Similar Pair
by knightlycat
Summary: Notoriously difficult ice skater Kurt Hummel failed in his attempt to win the first gold medal for the new sport of Similar Pairs Skating. Charismatic Blaine Anderson needs a fresh start after an injury prematurely ended his promising hockey career. Can they put aside their personal conflicts and help make each other's dreams come true? AU based on the movie The Cutting Edge.
1. Chapter 1

**So...this isn't the next story I had originally planned on writing weeks ago, but then there was ICE SKATING! And _The Cutting Edge_ is one of my favorite movies, so... **

**Today has been a heavy news day and I wasn't sure it this was the right time to start posting something new, but I promised earlier this week that I would post today, so here it is. I hope you enjoy!**

**Sadly, I do not own _Glee_, _The Cutting Edge_, or anything else you might recognize.**

* * *

XXII Olympic Winter Games - Sochi, Russia - February, 2014

"Horrendous. My bowels are clenching that was so mind bogglingly atrocious. You're going to be the laughingstock of the U.S. Olympic team with moves like that. In fact, your skating is so bad the International Olympic committee just called and rescinded their decision to include Similar Pairs skating in the Games. We might as well all go home."

Kurt Hummel glided across the ice to the boards in front of his coach, dragging one foot behind him to make a "T" shape with his skates, until he came to a stop. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. He could hear that Sue was still yelling about the ineptitude of his skating, but he was so used to her abuse that he was able to tune her out.

The sound of ice scraping caused him to look up and he watched as his skating partner, Chandler Kiehl, came to a stop and cowered beneath Sue's laser-like gaze. He and Chandler had been skating together for a year and he still wasn't able to look Sue straight in the eye.

"Are you listening to me Porcelain or has all the hairspray you use finally gummed up your eardrums?" Sue bellowed as she settled her hands on her hips. "Or maybe you think you're so good that you don't need my help anymore? Is that it? Are you God's gift to boundary-pushing ice sports now?"

Kurt's eyes moved past Sue to the stands, where several other skaters and coaches had gathered to watch their little drama unfold. One would think they'd have had their fill of Hummel/Sylvester fights by now, since clips of her berating him had been some of the first videos uploaded to youtube.

A familiar anger bubbled up in his chest as he felt those eyes on him. They all wanted to see him taken down a peg. They were all waiting to see him fail. "Well one of us is the face of the Similar Pairs movement and it certainly isn't you. But then you never ranked high enough as a skater to be the face of anything, did you?" he smiled coldly, a thrill of satisfaction running through him when the narrowing of her eyes indicated a direct hit. Sue hated being reminded that she'd never finished on top of the podium at a national or international level.

"You listen to me my little ice princess. I don't care at all about your pathological need to impress daddy or your desire to win a gold medal so that you're asked to prance around as grand marshal of the gayest of all gay pride parades. All I care about is that you don't embarrass me out there by travelling during your sit spins or by missing the entrance on the second throw jump. I know that there are those who claim you're the prodigy who's come to lead us into a new era of figure skating, but all I see is a bad attitude, lazy habits, and hair so flammable that you should wear a sign saying 'no smoking within 100 feet'. You're a pain in the ass and the reason I get up every morning and attempt to learn the art of the voodoo doll, so do us both a favor and get your ass back out on the ice and take it from the top. Long Program. Do it. Now." Sue's voice got louder and louder with each sentence until, at the end, her voice boomed out across the ice as if aided by a bullhorn.

Kurt could feel the whispers of the spectators and just knew that somewhere up there someone had their phone out and was recording their lovely encounter for the internet. Great. Just what he needed. Another video showing ice diva Kurt Hummel sparring with his coach. He glanced over at Chandler, who was studiously avoiding his gaze and knew he would find no support there. He was alone, as usual. Suddenly he'd had enough. He pushed away from the boards and skated backwards towards the center of the ice. "I haven't travelled during a sit spin in ten years and that throw jump was perfect except for the fact that Chandler can barely skate with you watching him, let alone land a jump, so it looks to me that the problem here is with you and not me," he called out, disdain dripping from every syllable. "If you want to see the long program again I suggest buying the recording of us at the National Championships, where you can see us place first despite the fact that you didn't bother to show up at the event. Was it vodka that time or did you go back to one of the golden oldies like gin and tonic?"

Kurt turned with a flourish and skated to the break in the boards where he stepped out onto the cushioned mats that surrounded the skating surface. As he placed guards over his skate blades and walked alone off towards the locker rooms he heard snickering drift through the building, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

=^..^=

"Another round for the bar. I'm paying!"

A cheer went up from the people gathered in the smoky Russian sports bar not far from the Olympic village. Blaine Anderson, who had just made the generous order, leaned his elbows back on the sticky, varnished wood of the bar and wrapped his ankles around the posts of his stool. His coach would kill him if he found out that he was drinking the day before the big game, which would determine if the U.S. hockey team would go on to the gold medal game or not, but he figured one or two beers wouldn't hurt. He glanced up at the big screen TV that was showing the Canada vs. Sweden game and clapped loudly when the Canadian goalie made a spectacular save. His team would face off against Canada for the gold medal if they both won their games, but for now he could root for them and his two Vancouver Canucks teammates who were out on the ice with maple leaves on their chests.

The round of beers was delivered and the small group of people gathered around him held their bottles up for a toast. The man sitting beside Blaine (who he vaguely remembered as being a luger from Italy) clinked their bottles together and smiled seductively.

"Are you worried about your big game?" he asked as he ran his eyes slowly up and down Blaine's body.

Blaine felt a flicker of interest at the bold perusal and let it show in his eyes. "Not a bit. I'm the best or haven't you heard?"

"Yes, I've heard this." The luger raised an eyebrow as if to say he'd heard that Blaine was the best at many things.

The luger was cute and Blaine was definitely interested, but before he could respond with a flirty comment of his own, an American flag floated down from above him to cover his face. He pushed the flag aside and looked around to find a few of his teammates, who had just come in from outside if the snowflakes still lingering on their shoulders were any indication. He sent a look of regret to the luger, who shrugged and mouthed "Next time" before sliding off the barstool and walking away. Blaine ordered a round for the new arrivals and they settled in at a nearby table to watch the game.

To say that Blaine was the most popular member on the U.S. hockey team— both amongst the public and his teammates — would not be an over-exaggeration. He had always exuded a charm that drew people in, while at the same time always seeming to be the steady center of whatever chaos surrounded him. He had initially been a little apprehensive about being an openly gay athlete on a professional sports team, but except for a few minor incidents, things had gone surprisingly well. His teammates had been a little standoffish at first, but then they'd discovered that he was the best wingman a guy could hope for. He was good looking, friendly, polite, a snazzy dresser, and a total gentleman, which meant that he attracted the women in droves. And once the women figured out that he wasn't interested, his friends were there standing at the ready to step in and ease their disappointment.

Of course, women weren't the only ones that Blaine attracted, which made _him_ happy. He was well known on the team for having an almost never-ending stream of guys at his beck and call. They never stayed around for long (by Blaine's choice), but while they did there was a lot of fun to be had.

The second period of the game ended with Canada up by two goals and the ice resurfacing machine trundled out to do its work, so Blaine took the opportunity to make a trip to the restroom. As he was heading back to the table he saw a figure leaning against the wall, waiting for him. For a second he thought it was the luger, back to follow up on the earlier promise, but as he drew closer he saw that it was Patrick, the cute Australian ski jumper he'd had a moment with during the Opening Ceremony.

Patrick straightened up as Blaine approached and wasted no time in pushing him back against the wall and leaning down to devour his mouth. Blaine was feeling slightly hazy from his beer, so he pushed into the kiss a little more enthusiastically than he might have normally. Their lips moved together hungrily in the kind of hard and filthy kissing that comes from knowing that you have limited time in which to make your point. Before things could progress too much further, though, Blaine heard a cheer rise up that indicated the game was back on. He broke away and smiled as Patrick panted out an invitation for Blaine to come back to his room later for some private fun.

Blaine smiled confidently and slipped the pro-offered slip of paper containing Patrick's room information into his pocket. As he made his way back to his table he stopped by the bar and ordered another round. He'd owned the Olympics so far and it looked like things were only going to get better.

=^..^=

_Welcome to NBC's coverage of the final night of the inaugural Similar Pairs Skating competition. The ladies competed last night, with the team of Smirnova and Turov from host country Russia taking the gold. Tonight it's the men's turn to make history._

_As everyone knows by now, the International Olympic committee voted two years ago to add Similar Pairs to the Sochi Games, which left the international skating federations scrambling to put together official teams in time. Probably the most famous Similar Pairs skater is Kurt Hummel, from the United States. His father, U.S. Congressman Burt Hummel, was instrumental in garnering support for adding all-male and all-female pairs to the sport of ice skating and led the effort to get the Olympic committee to vote on its inclusion._

_Kurt was already well known as the Pairs Skating __—__ now called Mixed Pairs __—__ National Champion in 2012 with his partner, Santana Lopez, but rose to greater fame when he dissolved his partnership with Lopez to help build the U.S. Similar Pairs team. Considered a wunderkind in the skating world from a very early age, he is known for his flamboyant style and flammable personality, which is often on display when he butts heads with Sue Sylvester, his coach of more than 12 years. We've already seen a few examples of their tempestuous relationship during these Games and the increasing tension between them has some people speculating that this might be their last competition together…_

Kurt finished his flying spin and moved into the footwork sequence that had Chandler mirroring his movements on the other side of the ice. When they met in the middle they would do side-by-side triple axels before the music changed and they headed into the slower-paced middle section of their program. He forced the muscles in his face to relax, letting no sign of the effort and concentration he was exuding show. He'd heard from some fellow skaters that they sometimes slipped into a trance-like state on the ice during competitions, where their minds let go and muscle-memory took over. He'd been trying his whole career to find that state of nirvana they described, but like the phantom "runner's high" that he had still never experienced, he doubted it actually existed; tonight it had never seemed so far away.

For some reason, that night he wasn't feeling quite right in his skin. His costume seemed too tight, his skates too loose, the sounds of his blades against the ice too loud. He could feel the stares of everyone in the arena and it felt like they were lasers burning a hole clean through him.

He locked eyes with Chandler and gave the soft vocal prompt that would allow them to synchronize their jumps. He skated forward and leaped.

The gasp from the audience was actually his first indicator that something had gone wrong. His mind hadn't yet wrapped itself around that fact that he had popped the jump and not completed the required three-and-a-half rotations. In fact, he'd be surprised if he'd completed even one rotation. He'd missed the jump. The jump he'd had down cold since he was seventeen. There was no way they would make the podium without getting credit for a synchronized triple, so that meant that they would have to find another place in the program to try again or basically give up and go home. A mid-program change like that would require improvisation and mental flexibility, neither of which were exactly his strong points.

He tried to regroup, but he could barely hear the music over the sound of years of Sue's scathing criticisms echoing in his ears. Luckily, the slower part of the program gave him a chance to formulate a plan and whisper it to Chandler, who acknowledged the change with a tiny nod of his head. The music switch up again and they sped around the rink gathering up momentum. Their biggest throw jump would come next, followed almost immediately by the second attempt at the triples.

Kurt skated in close and put his hands on Chandler's waist, getting into place for the throw. He felt the muscles in his limbs bunch and release as he put all of his strength into lifting his partner and throwing him up and out into the jump. He had barely even let go when he knew something had gone wrong. Then, instead of the crisp sound of Chandler's blades hitting the ice, there was a thud and a broken off yelp. And instead of bouncing back up onto his feet after the fall, Chandler sat on the ice gripping his knee, a grimace of pain on his face.

Kurt felt the world cave in around him as he skated to Chandler's side. He searched the crowd at the side of the ice until he found Sue, but she wouldn't meet his eye and turned away in disgust.

It was over. He had failed.

=^..^=

_Welcome back to U.S.A. team hockey. No one expected the U.S. team to advance this easily and if they win tonight, they'll be going on to play for the gold medal. Most of their hopes are pinned on right wing Blaine Anderson, who is in the middle of his second season as a Vancouver Canuck. Anderson is on track to become the most valuable player of these Games with 15 goals __—__ including a hat trick in the game against the Czech Republic __—__ and 12 assists so far. The home team Russians aren't about to lie down without a fight however, so the game is expected to be a physical one…_

…_One minute remaining in the third period and team Russia is ahead by one. Blaine Anderson, who has already scored in the first period and has an assist in the second, is just seconds away from finishing out his penalty for interference. And the penalty time is over and the U.S. team is back up to full strength. Anderson quickly rejoins the line-up. Carrington has the puck and passes to Anderson. Gorsky tries to take it from him, but… Goal! The U.S. has tied up the score with just five seconds remaining with a goal by Blaine Anderson. The…wait a minute, it looks like Anderson may be hurt. He took a pretty vicious hit from Sergei Alekseev and went head first into the boards. He doesn't seem to be moving. Coaches and medics are rushing out onto the ice now and the referee has called a penalty on Alekseev for checking from behind. _

_We'll keep you apprised of Anderson's condition as the night goes on, but the mood here in the arena is very somber. Team U.S.A has tied the game up, but at what cost?_


	2. Chapter 2

Six months later

Kurt moved into his final scratch spin, the world becoming nothing but a blur as he spun faster and faster. He finished with a flourish that was perfectly timed to the music and held his final pose. Two seconds later, he heard the other skater come to the same finish.

He dropped his arms and skated up to the boards, where he picked up a towel and dabbed it against his forehead. He looked towards his new coach, Isabelle Wright, and raised an eyebrow. "My father has better musicality and he's a fan of Mellencamp, so that's really saying something."

Isabelle shot him a chastising look and walked out onto the ice to offer a few pointers to Gideon, who was on the second day of his try-out to be Kurt's new partner.

After the disaster in Sochi, Kurt had returned home and made a clean sweep of things. Sue had packed up her bags and left, slamming doors and generally wreaking havoc as she went, and Chandler and he had agreed that it would be best if he found another skating partner. Kurt had then set about finding a coach who wouldn't attempt to publically humiliate him at every turn and a partner who could actually land throw jumps consistently. Isabelle Wright had been the third coaching candidate he'd met with and he'd known immediately that he would be offering her the job. He'd heard of her before, of course, as she was a two-time Pairs National Champion and had been coaching a Mixed Pairs team for several years, but they had never officially met.

Her soft, supportive style was in such contrast to Sue's that Kurt had been off-kilter for the first week, unaccustomed to being able to finish a skate without epithets being hurled in his direction. Thankfully, in addition to not being overly harsh in her criticisms, she also had a thick skin, which came in handy, since Kurt was equally unaccustomed to reigning in the more…colorful aspects of his personality. He wasn't known as a diva bitch on skates for nothing.

It was to no one's surprise that he'd burned through three different partners in four months. No, make that four.

"It's no use coaching him on this. Our styles are just too different. In that I have one and he doesn't," Kurt remarked as he skated over to Isabelle, not caring if Gideon heard him or not. He looked at the man in the mustard yellow work-out pants and t-shirt and grimaced; the outfit should have been his first clue. "It was a nice try, though. You can pick up your check at the front desk." He turned his back dismissively and skated to the other end of the ice, where he began to practice some simple double jumps.

Gideon removed his skates and gathered his things. Kurt felt a twinge of regret at how harsh he'd been, but when he saw the look of relief on Gideon's face as he hurried out of the building, it faded away. Isabelle walked slowly over to him and shook her head.

"Kurt, you can't keep this up," she sighed. "Too tall, too short, not musical enough, too musical. You've got an excuse for rejecting everyone. Remember that Similar Pairs is new and that there aren't that many skaters out there to choose from."

"Just find me someone else."

"Sweetie, I don't know if there is anyone else. We may be nearing the end of the line."

=^..^=

Blaine raised his leg up onto the dance bar and leaned into a warm-up stretch. He heard the stifled giggles behind him and knew without looking that the ladies of his Basic Historical Dances class were ogling his butt en mass. It was only his third week teaching at his brother's Columbus, Ohio theatrical school and the young ingénues were already sending him the longing looks and heavy sighs of newborn crushes.

It had taken him five months to recover from his injury at the Olympics and accept the fact that he would never again play professional hockey. The concussion had been bad, especially given that it was his second one, and the team doctor had refused to sign off on his returning to the active roster. He had protested and appealed to the league, but a second doctor had come to the same conclusion. The National Hockey League, which had recently put strict new rules into place regarding how they dealt with concussions, had given him their regrets and sent him on his way. The rest of his contract with the Canucks was paid off and he was let go.

He had the money now to sit back and do nothing, but he wasn't used to being idle and needed something to take his mind off of the end of his career and hockey dreams. He'd returned to Ohio to visit with Cooper and had been talked (nagged) into staying, but no matter what he did, something just seemed off. Then he realized what it was; he didn't know what to do with himself without the attention of everyone around him, without people admiring him and looking up to him. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been on the top of the heap. He had excelled as a child in sports, dance, and theater and had only narrowed down his focus to hockey when he'd graduated from high school two years before and been drafted by Vancouver.

In an attempt to get some part of himself back, Blaine had asked Cooper if he could help out at the school, which was experiencing an uptick in new students due to a new round of Cooper's credit rating commercials. Cooper had whooped with excitement and immediately put Blaine in charge of Basic Historical Dances and Introduction to Movement for the Stage, which he'd been covering himself while he looked for a new instructor. Teaching the classes was helping some, but Blaine still felt like he needed more. At night all he could think about was how close he'd been to playing for the gold medal. Instead, the U.S. team had gone on to lose the game to Russia in overtime and had lost the subsequent bronze medal game and the whole team had gone home without a medal of any color at all.

He finished up stretching and began to lead the class through some easy movements and leaps as warm-up continued. He stretched his arm up over his head and his shirt lifted to expose a few inches of taunt stomach. The ladies giggled again and Blaine suppressed a smile, happy that at least someone was still noticing him.

=^..^=

Isabelle Wright stepped from her car and locked it using the button on her keychain. She was running late and hoped that she had the right address, because the large house she was parked in front of didn't exactly look like a theater school. Her little sister had been attending the school for over a year and had invited Isabelle to attend a dance exhibition while she was in town.

Though ice skating did involve a lot of physically demanding jumps, at its heart it was about elegance of movement, balance, and musicality and Isabelle had become very familiar with dance classes over the years. She was excited to finally be able to see Carolyn dance and hoped she hadn't missed anything important by arriving so late, but she'd been caught up in doing research on finding Kurt more potential partners to skate with. The pool of possible skaters was small to begin with, and if you factored out the ones who were happy with their current partners, the ones who couldn't compete for the U.S. at the Olympics, and the ones who flat out refused to skate with Kurt, well, that left a very small number indeed. It was beginning to look like the situation would require some very creative, out-of-the-box thinking.

She hurried up the steps and discovered that the house was indeed the school she was looking for. She checked the board in the front hallway and slipped unobtrusively into the dance studio situated at the rear of the main floor. The students were sitting on the floor, watching as an extremely good looking man talked to them. The guy looked vaguely familiar and Isabelle thought she'd seen him on some TV commercial the night before. He was speaking about the importance of dance in acting and how the ease of movement and understanding of one's body helped immensely whether the role was dramatic (he pointed at someone in the front row and spoke loudly at him with an intense look on his face before diving to the left as if jumping out of the way of a speeding car) or comedic (he whirled around and pretended to slip on a patch of ice).

An equally handsome (though somewhat shorter) man standing next to Isabelle swallowed a laugh and traded an amused look with her.

The teacher at the front — who Isabelle now realized was Cooper Anderson, the owner of the school —finished up his lecture and called the first group of dancers to the floor. He announced that the group would be led by his brother, Blaine, and the shorter handsome guy made his way to the front and led the girls, who looked to be about 15 years old, through a routine that looked like a mix of 1950s dances styles.

Isabelle was captivated by his movements and was impressed by the inherent athleticism he demonstrated. His style reminded her of her old skating partner, who had been mesmerizing to watch on the ice. The dance ended and a new group took the floor, but Isabelle's attention remained on Blaine.

After the exhibition was over, Isabelle and Carolyn were talking with some of the other students in the hallway when Blaine walked by with a pair of hockey skates hanging over his shoulder. Isabelle asked Carolyn about him and learned about his hockey career, injury, and resulting retirement and an idea began to form in her head.

That night, while tucked into bed at her sister's house, she read all about Blaine and watched video after video of him skating. Despite his heavy protective gear, she could still see the elegance in his movements, the grace, and the power. Maybe she wasn't so crazy after all.

The next morning she returned to the school and approached Blaine in one of the classrooms.

"Hi, Mr. Anderson? My names Isabelle Wright and I was hoping I could talk to you about something," she smiled and held her hand out confidently.

Blaine shook her hand and led her to the desk at the front of the room. "Sure. What can I help you with?"

"I have a proposal for you, actually." She set her handbag on her lap and clutched at the strap nervously. "It might be crazy. In fact, it probably is, but I'm still hoping you'll consider it."

"Consider me intrigued," Blaine said with an easy smile.

"I'm an ice skating coach over in Lima. Similar Pairs skating. Have you heard of it?" Blaine nodded and she continued. "I'm the coach to the premier Similar Pairs skater in the country and he's looking for a new partner to take to the Olympics in 2018."

Blaine continued to smile at her until it was obvious that she wasn't going to continue unprompted. "And…?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"And I was thinking that you might be just what we're looking for."


	3. Chapter 3

**For those of you who haven't seen _The Cutting Edge_, I highly recommend it. One of the best romantic comedies of all time (you can skip the sequels, though).**

**This will be the last chapter for about a week, as I'll be without a reliable internet connection over Christmas. See you on the other side!**

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Blaine let out a hearty laugh when the petite woman with the flowing, golden brown curls seemed to imply that she wanted him to be a figure skater. She didn't laugh in exchange.

"You're kidding, right? This is some kind of joke that my brother put you up to, isn't it?" he asked as he looked towards the classroom door, expecting Cooper to pop out at any second. It was probably some kind of payback for criticizing his tendency to gurgle and flop his head off dramatically to the side whenever he performed a death scene.

"No, this absolutely is not a joke." Isabelle straightened her back and looked him straight in the eye. "I watched you dance yesterday and did some research last night. I think you have real potential."

He put his elbows on the desk in front of him and covered his mouth with one hand to try and hide his smile. "Look… Isabelle, is it? Isabelle, I'm a hockey player, or at least I was, and I can dance a little, but I'm not an ice skater. I think you have the wrong guy."

"Maybe. Maybe not. There's only one way to tell. I'd love it if you'd come in for a try-out. We can put you on the ice and see what kind of potential you have. We're just over in Lima. Come on, at worst it's a wasted weekend. At best…Well, what have you got to lose?"

=^..^=

What did he have to lose?

That, more than anything else Isabelle had said during their conversation convinced Blaine to make the drive to Lima for the weekend. He _didn't_ have anything to lose, except for maybe a little bit of his pride. He was tired of moping about things he couldn't change, tired of feeling rudderless. If nothing else, the trip might prove to be entertaining and would be a funny story to tell at parties (hey, have I told you about the time someone wanted _me_ to be an ice skater?).

Blaine had seen ice skating on TV a time or two, but it was never anything he'd paid that much attention to. Growing up in his household, sports meant team sports like football, basketball, and hockey, and he kind of equated skating, with its tight glittery outfits and moldy old classical music, to synchronized swimming. Sure it took talent, but what was the point?

He pulled up at the address Isabelle had given him and parked near the door. The ice rink had a large parking lot, but there were only a few cars present. Isabelle had told him that the building was owned by a woman named April Rhodes, a failed skater who had come into some money and decided to convert an old roller rink into an ice rink. It was open for public skating a few nights a week, but other than that she had given it over to Kurt Hummel for his exclusive training use.

Kurt Hummel. When Isabelle had told him the name of her skating client Blaine hadn't immediately known who he was. There had probably been a lot of press about him during the Sochi games, but at the time Blaine had been otherwise occupied. It wasn't until he'd gotten home and looked the name up on the internet that he realized Kurt was the skater he had read some about with the father who was in Congress.

Blaine walked into the building and was immediately struck by the familiar chill in the air and the smell that could only be found in an ice rink. He closed his eyes at the rush of emotions. He'd been skating many times since his accident, including once in the past week, but the feeling of being home hit him every time and made him miss hockey all the more.

He passed through the reception area and opened another set of doors to enter the actual rink-side area. A lone figure was out on the ice, skating to a soft, lilting piece of music that Blaine didn't recognize. The skater turned to face him and Blaine recognized him from the videos he'd watched the night before. Kurt was dressed in a lightweight royal blue sweatshirt that slipped off of one shoulder and tight black leggings that were strapped down over his black skates. He looked delicate in many ways, but strong, with large-than-normal thigh muscles and biceps that strained against the material of his shirt.

While his physical form was spectacular, it was the way he moved his body, and the emotions that showed on his face, that really entranced Blaine. The music turned sorrowful and Kurt spread his legs wide and pointed his feet in opposite directions. He leaned back and seemed to defy gravity as the position of his skates drew him into an ever tightening circle on the ice. He arms were stretched wide and there was such a look of pain and longing on his face that Blaine immediately felt a connection with him.

Then Kurt shifted his balance forward and glided away in a straight line, one leg raised parallel with the ice and an arm lifted high above his head. He moved into some intricate steps and pirouettes, gathering speed as he crossed from one end to the other. With a swipe of one skate he turned and began skating backwards before suddenly jumping, with one arm up over his head, spinning so fast Blaine couldn't even tell how many times he had rotated. He landed on one foot and did a few more moves before ending on a spin down low to the ice. He finished on the exact end beat of the music and Blaine began to clap. Although he still wasn't convinced that skating was a real sport, he could definitely see the appeal in watching it.

Isabelle leaned out over the boards and waved excitedly to him, motioning for him to step out onto the ice and come over to where she and Kurt were standing. After doing a quick check to confirm that his shoes were gripping the ice enough for him to walk without embarrassing himself, Blaine made his way to Kurt, who was looking at him a bit suspiciously with his hands on his hips and one leg stretched out a bit to the side. As the cold air bit through his shirt, Blaine felt a reluctant stir of interest. It had been six months since he'd had sex. At first his injury and the follow up with the league had left him little time for such things, but after that he just hadn't found himself in the mood. Now it seemed like his libido had picked that awkward moment to return to life.

"Blaine!" Isabelle exclaimed as he approached. "I'm so glad you made it. I'd like to introduce you to Kurt Hummel, my phenomenal skater. Kurt, this is Blaine Anderson."

Blaine held his hand out and smiled his patented flirtatious smile, letting just a hint of heat enter his eyes. His hand hung there as Kurt moved his head slowly around to stare at Isabelle.

"You're inviting spectators to practice now?" Disdain dripped from every one of Kurt's words. "What am I a show pony? Is this how we're going to pay for the new costumes? Tourists?"

Blaine let his hand drop back down to his side as his smile dimmed and he looked over at Isabelle for some guidance.

"Kurt," she said gently, as if tip-toeing through a field strewn with landmines, "Blaine's going to be with us for the weekend so that we can check out his skating and see if you two might gel as partners."

"You skate?" Kurt asked skeptically as he eyed Blaine from head-to-toe.

It took everything he had for Blaine not to smooth a hand down the front of his polo shirt and pants to check for wrinkles. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, not liking Kurt's tone. "Since I was 5 years old," he replied as he examined Kurt just as closely. Two could play at that game.

Kurt snorted derisively and looked away again. "You can't be any good since I've never heard of you. And I've heard of everyone who's worth knowing."

Isabelle's eyes darted back-and-forth between them and Blaine could see her searching for the best way to explain who he was. "Blaine's not… exactly a figure skater," she decided on.

"He's not one of those kooks who keeps petitioning to try and get roller skating into the Olympics is he?" Kurt bent over and pressed his nose to his leg in a stretch so deep it caused Blaine's own back to pop in sympathy. "'Cause that ship sailed along with Flock of Seagull hairstyles and leg warmers."

Despite being presented with the beauty that was Kurt stretching in tight leggings, Blaine had to fight to keep his temper in check. "Hockey, actually. Professionally for a little over a year."

Kurt lifted his face off his legs and he looked at Isabelle, dumbfounded. "Are you kidding me? I'm looking to win an Olympic medal, not run a charity program for down-on-their-luck meathead ex-jocks. What were you thinking?"

Blaine didn't give Isabelle a chance to respond. "I'm not down-on-my-luck and I was _never_ a meathead."

The dismissive look Kurt shot him spoke volumes. "Yeah, the meatheads never think they're meatheads. That's because self-awareness is an attribute of higher beings, a category to which meatheads do not belong. Look Isabelle, I have basically three years to get back up to championship level and while I find these little attempts of your at humor very entertaining, I don't really have time for this, so..."

All Blaine could do was stare as Kurt skated off the ice and grabbed a bottle of water, drinking half of it down at once. How could someone so fluid and elegant, so expressive and in-tune with the music and able to convey such subtle emotions on the ice, be such an uptight asshole once the music stopped?

He realized he was glaring and attempted to bring himself back under control. A gentleman never let his emotions get the better of him. "I'm sorry Isabelle, but I think I'll go back to teaching dance classes to 15 year old girls. They're more emotionally mature and have better manners. I don't need this." Okay, so maybe he wasn't a gentleman _all_ of the time.

He spun on his heel, but only made it a few steps before the sound of Isabelle's raised voice stopped him.

"That's enough, the both of you," she semi-yelled, her voice echoing throughout the building. "Kurt, you've spent so long playing Goldilocks with partners that there's no one left. This is it. We try and make this work or we throw in the towel."

Kurt crossed his arms petulantly. "What about Rosenburg?"

"He's just paired up with Zanker. They're training up in Toronto."

"Brussard?"

She shook her head. "He hung up on me as soon as he heard your name. I believe I heard him mutter something about a 'viper in spandex.'"

Blaine snorted with laughter at the perfect description.

Isabelle turned and pierced him with her gaze. "And you! I wouldn't be so anxious to go back to teaching teenagers how to Mash Potato and Twist if I were you. You're young, so you probably don't realize how quickly you can become complacent and let your dreams just drift away. This may be your last chance at the Olympics, Blaine. No one else is going to be beating down the door for an ex-hockey player who can dance a little, I can promise you." She pinned them both down with a steely expression that Blaine hadn't expected from her. "So what's it going to be?"

=^..^=

"Alright Blaine, I told you most of this when we spoke earlier, but here's the intro to Similar Pairs skating. Because the partners are of the same sex and don't have the physical size differences of Mixed Pairs, SP has more individual jumps and only a few simplified throw jumps. Traditional skating lifts aren't done for obvious reasons, but there are a few modified waist-high lifts that some pairs are performing. There's also more of an emphasis on footwork and dance elements than in Mixed Pairs. SP is considered more a hybrid of singles skating and ice dancing."

Kurt listened while Isabelle went over the basics of the sport and tried hard not to stare at Blaine. It really was unfair how good looking and confident he was. He'd been there only 20 minutes and he already looked as if he owned the place. When Blaine had walked out onto the ice in his Brooks Brothers shirt and his Cole Haan shoes and flashed that coy smile, Kurt had immediately been set on edge. Skating wasn't a cheap sport and the Hummels had struggled for many years to pay the bills Kurt racked up. All his life, Kurt had gone to competitions where the other kids showed up with the latest fad in costumes and brand new skates, arriving in luxury cars and followed around by stage moms and dads who reeked of money as Blaine did now. It made Kurt feel inferior and there wasn't much he hated more than that feeling.

He couldn't believe Isabelle was doing this to him. He was one of the top SP skaters in the world and she wanted him to skate with an ex-hockey player? An ex-hockey player who had never even seen figure skates up close, if his inspection of the pair Isabelle had just handed him was any indication. Kurt had known from the beginning that there weren't that many partner options out there for him and that the reputation that proceeded him wouldn't make finding one any easier, but having Isabelle lay it all out there, and in front of a virtual stranger at that, had hurt.

He wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head to hide from the world for a while, but that wasn't possible with the puckhead in the building looking all earnest and debonair.

Isabelle had Kurt remove his skates so that they could first try some simple dance movements on the hardwood floor of the practice room. She said she wanted to see their chemistry off the ice first, but Kurt thought she was probably just scared for Blaine to put the skates on, as she would have to finally admit that she was wrong and give up on the whole crazy idea.

Isabelle instructed them to do a simple waltz, with Blaine acting as the lead. They performed the steps over and over and Kurt was surprised to find how well they moved together. It was obvious that Blaine had some dance training and Kurt suddenly remembered that he had said something earlier about teaching a dance class.

They glided easily over the floor and Blaine arched an arrogant eyebrow at him, as if he could read his thoughts, which set Kurt's teeth on edge. Well, there was a lot more to skating than dance ability and he knew that Blaine wouldn't look so confidant once they left the dance floor.

Despite having promised Isabelle that he would give Blaine a fair shot at the try-out, Kurt looked for a way to wipe the smug look off the other man's face. There was one sure-fire way he knew of to get under the skin of any jock.

"If this all works out what will all your hockey pals have to say about your career change?" Blaine dipped him and Kurt grasped his shoulder tightly in surprise. "I can't imagine they'll be too supportive. I mean, Mixed Pairs skating and Ice Dancing have a surprisingly high percentage of straight male skaters, but SP is, shall we say, a decidedly _alternative_ sport. I can't imagine that will go over well down at the old watering hole."

His words didn't have quite the effect he was looking for. Blaine just smiled enigmatically and lifted him out of the dip.

"Well, given that I'm gay, which they are all very much aware of, I'd say they'd be fine with it."

Kurt stumbled at his words and fought to keep his face neutral. Blaine was gay? A gay professional hockey player? That was unexpected. "Well, don't expect to use this as your private dating service. Every year there's always some drama caused by a hook-up on the circuit and we don't need that kind of distraction." Kurt didn't even realize he was already talking as if Blaine had the job. "The temptation is there all the time and some of the guys are relentless, but you have to keep your eye on the prize."

"Right, I'm sure you're beating guys off with a stick all the time," Blaine said sarcastically.

Kurt didn't know why Blaine's skepticism hurt so much. "As a matter of fact I am, but this year I have an even better reason to turn them down. I have a boyfriend."

"Great, when do I get to meet him?"

"He works with my dad in D.C., so he doesn't get out here much," Kurt admitted as they completed the steps and drifted to a stop in the far corner of the practice room.

Isabelle prevented them from continuing their conversation by announcing that it was time to hit the ice. They reached the door at the same time, so Kurt motioned for Blaine to go ahead of him. Blaine smirked and walked through, but as he passed by, Kurt could hear him humming a song that sounded suspiciously like _My Girlfriend Who Lives in Canada_ from the musical _Avenue Q_.

Kurt was not amused.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm trying hard not to just replicate the movie, but there are just some things that I have to include, right? You know what I mean. Enjoy!**

* * *

Blaine pulled hard on the ends of the laces to tighten them one last time and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. The figure skates felt strange on his feet after years of playing hockey and he wiggled his toes, grimacing at the tightness. The black leather boots might look classier than his hockey skates, but they were nowhere near as comfortable to wear.

He stood up tentatively and took the few steps from the bench to the opening in the boards, feeling out his balance on the blades. He stepped out onto the ice and skated over to Kurt, who was waiting impatiently.

"Great, why don't we start with some basic skating," Isabelle called out from her seat in the bleachers. "Let's try with Kurt leading. Blaine, can you please stand behind Kurt and put one hand on his waist and hold the other one outstretched? I'm going to have you guys push off on the count of four and take one turn around the rink."

Blaine moved up behind Kurt and set a hand on his waist, smiling when he felt Kurt's spine tense. "Well, well, well, here we are again, back in each other's arms. You just can't stay away, can you?" He flinched internally as he spoke. He always resorted to flirting when he was nervous. He thought he heard Kurt's teeth grind a little and that made him feel better.

He looked forward and raised his chin up a bit, feeling a little self-conscious since he was shorter than Kurt and knew that it must look a little odd with him in back where the taller partner usually stood. He glanced down at his skates to make sure his feet were in the right position and remembered something that had caught his attention earlier. "Hey, what's this little claw at the end of the blade?"

Kurt turned his head to glower at him. "It's a toe pick."

Blaine grinned wolfishly and winked. "Let me guess, you use them for teasing your hair up so high."

"Don't let that worry you," Kurt reassured him snidely as he eyed Blaine's heavily gelled down hair. "It isn't a requirement that you have great hair in order to be a skater, so at least you have that going for you."

"Oh, I have a lot more than that going for me, I can assure you," Blaine said, letting his voice drop down low and sexy.

A long-suffering sigh escaped Kurt's lips as he turned back to face Isabelle. "Can we get this started, please?"

Isabelle counted off and Blaine and Kurt pushed off together and began to travel down the long side of the ice. Blaine knew he was moving more awkwardly than he normally would, but he couldn't quite get the hang of the new blades or having to synchronize his movements with another person. He flattened his right hand out on Kurt's stomach and pulled him in a bit closer.

"Don't hold me so close," Kurt ground out as they made the corner and turned down the other straight-away. "Some of your hair gel will rub off on me and I'll have to take an extra-long shower."

"Why Mr. Hummel, is that an invitation?"

He felt Kurt grab his right hand and pull it from his waist, while at the same time pushing off and accelerating. The sudden change threw Blaine off and he stumbled, the claw at the end of his left skate catching in the ice and sending him sprawling on his stomach. He felt ice shavings work their way under the collar of his shirt as he looked up and saw Kurt turn back to look at him from the other end of the ice.

"Toe Pick!" Kurt sang out as his dug one toe into the ice and pivoted neatly to skate off in the opposite direction, his laughter echoing off the walls.

Blaine picked himself off the ice and brushed a hand down his front, determined to try again. Isabelle sent them around the ice again and this time Blaine vowed to keep this mouth shut and his mind on his skating. Despite that, though, he still didn't do much better.

Isabelle next asked them to try skating side-by-side and turn to skate backwards half way down the ice. At the turn, Blaine found himself lying on the ice again, looking up at the ceiling. Kurt skated back to him and leaned over, his smiling face moving in to block Blaine's view of the rafters.

"Toe Pick!"

Next, Isabelle asked them to skate together, with him behind and then move to side-by-side, holding hands with Kurt's left in his right. He ended up on his butt, watching as Kurt sped away.

"Toe Piiiiiiiiick!"

He was starting to hate the sound of Kurt's laughter.

=^..^=

Kurt watched as Isabelle led Blaine through another turn around the rink. It was obvious Blaine had never been on figure skates before and didn't know what he is doing, but Kurt grudgingly admitted that he could see some potential there. There was a grace and eloquence to his skating that was evident despite his lack of finesse. If only Blaine didn't rub him so raw. He'd known it wasn't going to go well as soon as he'd learned Blaine was a hockey player. Years of running into puckheads at rinks had taught him to stay far away from their kind unless he was in the mood for some serious abuse.

Blaine smiled at Isabelle when he got a move right and Kurt shifted in his seat uncomfortably, trying to ignore the pin-prick of shame over the fact that he hadn't exactly been playing fair all day. He could have made it easier on Blaine by trying to help him out a little more, but he'd thought it best to save them both the time and aggravation of an extended try-out. Besides, he'd never see Blaine again after today. What was the point in trying to make friends?

Despite it all, though, Blaine seemed to still be trying. Each time he'd fallen he'd picked himself back up again, only narrowing his eyes slightly at Kurt's laughter. He'd improved steadily and was now gliding smoothly over the ice, no longer swinging his arms wildly and making way for his non-existent hickey stick.

"Kurt!" He looked up to see Isabelle waving at him from across the rink. "I want to try some simple strength moves."

Kurt grimaced and pushed off to cross over to where she was already explaining to Blaine what she wanted them to do.

"In SP skating, either one partner can always act as the base for jumps and lifts or the partners can switch off," she explained as she moved off to the side. "Kurt was always the base with Chandler, but I want to see if you have the strength so that you two could switch."

"Excellent," Blaine smiled at Kurt wickedly. "Switching is good. I bet you get bored always being the bottom…I mean the base."

Kurt scowled at him and then turned around slowly to face Isabelle, waiting for the inevitable. Isabelle directed Blaine to pick him up, saying that she wasn't giving a lot of instruction on purpose because she wanted to see what his instincts led him to do.

Blaine paused for a second and then put his hands under Kurt's armpits and lifted him straight up over his head. Kurt nearly squeaked as his skates left the ice. Blaine was much stronger than he looked.

Isabelle clapped her hands together and nodded. "Solid, balanced. Very good."

Kurt expected Blaine to put him down, but he remained where he was, hanging several inches off the ground. "Can you put me down?" he bit out as he glowered at Blaine. Blaine immediately pulled his hands away and Kurt fell to the ice, landing hard on his ass. "You…you imbecile!" he sputtered as he looked up at Blaine's grinning face.

Blaine just turned to Isabelle and shrugged. "Guess _that_ move needs some work."

He made his way off the ice to get a drink of water as Kurt rose to his feet, gently rubbing his throbbing posterior. "See, I told you it wouldn't work," Kurt tossed at Isabelle accusingly. "We wasted a whole day on this…this…hockey puck."

Isabelle looked at him in that way that always made him want to stand up straighter and try harder. "I disagree. I think this might just turn out. His lines were lovely and I think I can have him doing a single jump by the end of the weekend."

Kurt snorted and skated backwards until he reached his jacket, which was lying draped over the edge of the boards. "And if we were competing in the novice division that would be great. What am I supposed to do while you teach him the difference between a Lutz and a Salchow? Learn how to knit? He won't last that long anyways. I bet you he doesn't even come back in the morning."

=^..^=

Blaine groaned as he lowered himself into a chair at the little Italian restaurant where he was having dinner with Isabelle. He hadn't been as active as he was used to being in the last six months and falling on the ice so many times had taken its toll. In fact, the whole day had worn on him more than he'd expected. He wasn't used to failing at anything and he had definitely failed today. Figure skating just didn't seem to be his thing. Add the temperamental diva that was Kurt Hummel to the mix and it was a recipe for disaster. He should probably just save everyone the aggravation and head home in the morning. No sense in delaying the inevitable.

Just after they ordered, a vaguely familiar looking man in a flannel shirt and baseball cap made his way to their table. "Isabelle, it's nice to see you."

"Burt!" Isabelle jumped up and kissed the man on both cheeks and he smiled, though Blaine could tell he was slightly uncomfortable with the cosmopolitan gesture. "I'd like to introduce you to Blaine Anderson, the one I told you about. Blaine, this is Congressman Burt Hummel, Kurt's father."

Blaine stood up and extended his hand. "Sir, it's great to meet you. Would you like to join us?"

"Don't mind if I do," Burt replied as he took a seat at the table. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but I crave these horrible breadsticks when I'm away in Washington."

They all laughed, because the breadsticks really were like baked cardboard and Burt took a look at the menu before putting in his order. After the waiter left, he removed his hat and set it on the bench beside him. "I spoke with Kurt this afternoon and heard all about the practice today. Sounds like things are off to a slow start."

Isabelle shook her head. "No, I think we're right on schedule. Just a review of the basics today. Tomorrow we'll try some more advanced moves."

Blaine felt a pang of guilt at her mention of plans for the next day, and knew he should tell her that he wasn't coming back. Just then her phone rang and she excused herself to take the call. Blaine met Burt's eyes uneasily and racked his brain for something to say.

"I saw you skate in Sochi," Burt said, beating him to the punch. "Really impressive. I was sorry to hear about your injury. I know Kurt can be difficult, so I appreciate you sticking it out and giving this a chance."

Blaine shifted in his chair and traced a fingernail over the pattern on the tablecloth. "Yeah, about that….I'm not really sure this is going to work out."

Burt sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes taking on a far-away look. "For months we've been looking for a partner that's as driven and talented as Kurt. One who brings balance to the partnership and can stand up to the stress of competition. Chandler wasn't that guy. Kurt's mom was a Pairs skater, did you know that? She taught Kurt how to skate when he was just a tiny kid and he was so good right off the bat. She coached him until she died in a car accident when he was eight." Blaine made a noise of sympathy, but Burt waved it away. "After that he seemed possessed with the need to live up to his mom's legacy, to have the career she wanted for him. I try to support him in whatever he needs, but I'd be behind him if he wanted to be a grocery clerk or astronaut. I don't care, as long as he's happy."

"Is he?" Blaine asked tentatively.

"Is he what?"

"Happy?"

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the table. "I'm not sure that I've ever seen him truly happy. This is a pretty lonely life he's chosen and, as you can see, he's prickly enough that it would take someone really strong to get past those barriers he's put up. I happen to think he's worth it, but hey, what do I know."

Isabelle picked that moment to return to the table and she and Burt soon slipped into a discussion about the latest goings-on in Congress. Blaine listened with one ear, thinking about what Burt had said. Was Kurt really worth the effort? And was he the right man for the job?

=^..^=

All was quiet the next morning as Kurt practiced a footwork sequence that'd been giving him some problems. He loved coming to the rink early in the morning, when the streets were deserted and most people were still tucked into their beds. Early morning practices had been hell on Earth when he was a kid, but with age had come an appreciation for the quiet stillness of the hours just before and after dawn.

After several run-throughs, he decided to wait until Isabelle was there to point out what he was doing wrong. It was about half-an-hour until she was due to arrive and he wondered how they would spend the day, given that the second day of Blaine's try-out wouldn't be happening. He felt a twinge of regret over not seeing Blaine again, but he pushed it away and began to run through a list of skaters in his mind, desperately searching for someone else that might skate with him. He wondered if it was too late to try and recruit someone from another country and work on getting them U.S. citizenship in time for the Games.

As he skated to the edge of the ice he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, expecting to see Isabelle. Instead, he found Blaine, who was dropping his gym bag onto a bench. Kurt stared in disbelief and his distraction led him to run head-long into the boards. The sound of his skates hitting the wood and the surprised "Umph" that was forced from his lips brought Blaine's eyes up to him.

"Graceful. I can see why you're a world champion," Blaine snorted as he sat down to pull off his shoes.

Kurt felt heat flood his face. Who did Blaine think he was anyways? He was just annoying and full of himself and who was he trying to impress with that bow tie anyway? But…despite all of that, Kurt couldn't deny the teeny, tiny flare of happiness and relief that was spreading up his spine as it sank in that Blaine hadn't left and was, presumably, still interested in being Kurt's partner.

He'd tried to resist doing research on Blaine the night before, sure that he would be gone and that it would be a waste of time, but hadn't been able to help himself. He read about Blaine's meteoric hockey career, the semi-party boy lifestyle he'd led, and the injury that had permanently side-lined him. While he'd been grudgingly impressed by the success Blaine had reached at such a young age, he'd also been dismayed to read about the vast number of men he'd been spotted out with. Kurt had wondered to himself snidely if Blaine had had a revolving door installed in his bedroom and had taken the discovery as yet another sign that Blaine's leaving was a good thing. The last thing Kurt needed was a pint-sized Casanova trying to sleep with everything in skates while they were trying to get up to competition strength.

The memory of the paparazzi photos of Blaine with man after man caused Kurt to clench his jaw and make one last attempt to drive him away. "I read up on you last night," he called out to Blaine, who'd just slipped his second skate on. "There were almost as many articles about your love life as about your hockey playing."

"What can I say?" Blaine returned nonchalantly as he laced up his boot. "I'm popular with the fellas. Jealous?"

Kurt began breathing heavier as he strained to reign in his temper. "It's obvious you had no discipline. Natural talent got you by in hockey, but only hard work and dedication will make you a skater."

Blaine stood up and met his gaze. "Challenge accepted."


	5. Chapter 5

Blaine wasn't quite able to perform a successful single jump by the end of the weekend, but he was well on his way. He finished his final run-through of the short routine Isabelle had taught him and even Kurt had to admit that it was a miraculous performance given that he'd only been skating for less than 48 hours.

Kurt had just watched from the bleachers for most of the day, since Isabelle wanted to concentrate on evaluating Blaine's skating potential and ability to memorize choreography. Blaine had learned the routine quickly and performed it over-and-over without a grumble or complaint. His work-ethic should have impressed Kurt, but instead it just pissed him off.

He'd laughed out loud the first few times Blaine had tried lifting one leg high off the ground behind him as he glided across the ice, thinking he looked about as steady as a newborn fawn. He started to reign in his reactions after a few sharp looks from Isabelle, but had still snickered to himself when he couldn't stop picturing Blaine as Bambi splayed out on his stomach.

As Blaine bent over to take off his skates at the end of practice, Isabelle turned to Kurt with a pointed look and he knew without a doubt that she was fully convinced that Blaine was the right fit for the job. Kurt wanted to argue; he wanted to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum over the unfairness of having to start over with a partner who was the skating equivalent to a preschooler, but he bit his tongue and nodded slightly instead.

There would have to be discussions to finalize all the details, but the skating team of Hummel and Anderson was now officially a go. And if Blaine even tried to suggest that they be known as Anderson and Hummel, Kurt would run him over with the Zamboni.

=^..^=

The next few weeks were a blur for Blaine. He found an apartment not too far from the rink and Cooper helped him move his things in the next Saturday. Blaine had actually expected Cooper to give him a harder time about his decision to take up figure skate, but in a rare moment of brotherly support, Cooper had just clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock him back on his heels and told him he looked forward to seeing Blaine out competing on the ice again, no matter what the sport.

Isabelle took Blaine shopping in Columbus for his own pair of skates and some practice clothes, and though Kurt came with them, he wasn't much help at all, choosing to just stand back and make disparaging remarks about Blaine's fashion sense. In retaliation, Blaine had purchased the brightest, most obnoxious pieces he could find and vowed to wear them in combinations that would hopefully sear Kurt's retinas.

He also hired himself a private coach, recommended to him by Isabelle, who he would work with three days a week on basic skating skills. He would then practice with Kurt three additional days each week. He was mildly shocked at how expensive the equipment and coaching was. He'd known figure skating wasn't a cheap sport, but they hadn't even gotten to the major expenses like competition costumes, custom music, and travel. The money was no problem for him, since he had the buy-out money from his hockey contract, but he wondered how the Hummels had been able to afford the expense for so many years.

The first day of practice arrived and Blaine couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned for several minutes before giving up and dragging himself out of bed. Kurt had texted him that practice would begin at eight o'clock, but it wouldn't hurt to get to the rink early. In fact, he was looking forward to the expression on Kurt's face when he walked in and found Blaine already skating. He got dressed in a pair of obnoxiously bright yellow skating pants and a red and blue striped long-sleeved t-shirt. He glanced in the mirror, pleased with the result. He looked like some kind of mutant bumble bee. Kurt would loath it.

Blaine used his shiny new key to unlock the front door of the rink and stepped inside, grinning as he imagined how Kurt would react when he finally showed up. Would he grind his teeth and pretend to smile a greeting or would he glare and stomp off to the locker room? Blaine opened the second door to the ice and…Kurt skated by, his arms stretched out elegantly and his head turned pointedly in the other direction.

Blaine sighed with disappointment that his plan had been foiled and trudged off to the locker room, waving at Isabelle as he went. He returned minutes later and began his own warm-up. As he passed Kurt on the ice, he heard an exaggerated intake of breath.

"Why Blaine, you're here!" Kurt turned around to skate backwards so that he was looking at Blaine. "You were so late I thought that maybe you'd forgotten that training started today. No worries, I'm sure we can work around your schedule if you can't make it in by six o'clock. We can't all be morning people, after all."

Blaine was the one to grit his teeth and fake a smile. "No, that won't be necessary. Early morning works for me. I must have just spaced on the timing. It won't happen again."

Kurt just smiled sweetly and skated on.

Blaine watched him go with narrowed eyes. If Kurt wanted a war, he had it.

=^..^=

It was the end of their fourth week of training and Blaine was tired. Bone deep, fall-asleep-in-your-clothes-and-sleep-for-a-month kind of tired, but he refused to be the one who gave in first. He glanced over at Kurt, who had a similarly stubborn look in his eye, and then suggested to Isabelle that they try their simple routine again, for about the hundredth time that day.

He had only been working with Kurt three days of each week, but each training session had been a monumental struggle between his unstoppable force and Kurt's immovable object. It had all started on the first day, when Isabelle had asked them to do some dance hold skating, meaning that they would be facing each other. As they'd gotten into position, Kurt had grimaced and asked Blaine to make sure to brush his teeth next time. Blaine, who was already minty fresh, thank you very much, had smiled and promised he would do so.

The following day, he'd dutifully brushed his teeth then ate a breakfast burrito with extra onions that he had purchased on his way home the night before. When he'd gathered Kurt into his arms for their skate he had blinked his eyes innocently and exhaled long and hard. Kurt's eyes had nearly crossed from the smell of his breath. For their third practice that week, Blaine had eaten some cold pasta that he'd covered with nearly half-a-head of roasted garlic.

Kurt had met him at the edge of the ice at the beginning of their next training session with a little cup filled with mouth wash and wouldn't skate with him until he had used it.

That had set the tone for the whole month. Kurt complained that Blaine's hands were too sweaty and that he couldn't get a good enough grip, so that night Blaine sewed pieces of Velcro to two pairs of gloves and the next day gave Kurt a pair, saying that this way he might be able to get a good grip. Kurt protested when Blaine hummed on the ice, saying that the sound was throwing off his rhythm, so Blaine showed up with a kazoo after lunch. Kurt grumbled that Blaine wasn't shaving often enough and that his stubble was irritating Kurt's skin when they did a dance move that caused their cheeks to touch. Blaine came to the ice the next day wearing a full beard and mustache that he had driven all the way to Cooper's school to pick up.

Blaine studied when he wasn't on the ice or thinking up new ways to torment Kurt. He read books on figure skating and quizzed himself until he knew all the terms backwards and forwards. He watched videos of National, World, and Olympic competitions and made notes about moves, music, and costumes he found interesting. And he watched videos of Kurt skating. He had been competing for 12 years, so there were enough to keep Blaine busy for the next year at least.

"I don't think we need to go through the routine again," Isabelle sighed tiredly, bringing Blaine back to the present. "You guys did great and you've earned your day off tomorrow."

Kurt flung the towel he was holding down and shook his head. "No, we need to keep going. Blaine still doesn't have the timing down and his extension isn't right on the Arabesque. God, this is taking forever. I'm going to forget how to do everything while we wait for Blaine to learn how to skate in a straight line."

"If you wanted a more experienced partner you should have worked on being better known for your skating rather than your attitude. And maybe I'd get my extension right if you didn't always insist on dressing up like New York Fashion Week's idea of workout wear." Blaine said gesturing to Kurt's fashionably disheveled practice clothes, which consisted of tight black leggings with a light green stripe that spiraled up one leg, a coordinating tight green leotard, a black wrap-around shrug type sweater, and a blue and green scarf. "I'm always afraid I'm going to catch my blade in one of your many, many layers. Can't you just dress like a normal person for once? There's no one here to impress."

Kurt stilled, his whole body stiffing until his spine could have been used as a ruler. Then, without a word, he skated off the ice and disappeared into the locker room.

Blaine watched him go in confusion. Why had that gotten to Kurt when everything else he'd said and done all month had garnered little reaction? He turned to Isabelle in frustration. "Why is he like that? Why does he have to make everything so hard?"

Isabelle patted his shoulder. "I always picture Kurt as a porcupine. He has lots of barbs to convince you he's scary and doesn't want you around, but the more time you spend with him, the more you see he's actually a big softie on the inside. Eventually he'll let his guard down around you. We'll get there, I promise."

=^..^=

Kurt slid his key into the lock and pulled the door open, slipping into the building for the practice that would mark the end his and Blaine's second month together. They'd been trading back-and-forth on who arrived at the rink first in the morning, yet another facet of the never ending competition they were having with each other. Today, it was Blaine who was the victor and Kurt hid behind a support post to watch as he glided over the ice, unaware that anyone was watching.

Though he and Blaine had been skating together for two months now, he couldn't really say that he knew him any better than he had on that first day. After the first week, Blaine had stopped flirting with him and while he was mostly relieved, there was a small part of him that missed the attention. They didn't have much time for personal talk during training and so far neither of them had made any effort to spend time together off the ice. Kurt knew he had probably ruined any possibility of a friendship between them with his behavior the past few months, but he couldn't help himself. It was like he and Blaine were two combustible liquids in a chemistry lab. Mix them together and stand back and watch the fireworks.

Blaine didn't seem to have a problem getting along with anyone else. Kurt knew that he and Isabelle had gone out for drinks after practice several times (Kurt always turned down Isabelle's invitations to join them) and he seemed to have made friends with the Zamboni driver and a few others at the rink. Kurt, on the other hand, never seemed to mesh well with people. A childhood spent practicing or at competitions hadn't exactly made him Mr. Popularity. Because of his skating, and later his obvious homosexuality, people in his small, conservative hometown hadn't known how to act around him. They hadn't liked him, so he had learned not to like them in return.

He was uncomfortable making small talk, so he retreated behind cutting remarks and sarcasm in order to have something to say. He had only gotten worse when he'd partnered up with Santana Lopez, who could flay the skin off of the devil himself with her tongue. He felt like he had studied under the master and come away with a PhD in angry bitch talk.

Of course, Blaine was giving back as good as he got. It was a dynamic Kurt hadn't even realized that he'd missed when Chandler was his partner. Chandler had never given him crap in return. He had just stared like a whipped puppy and apologized for whatever had set Kurt off. There was something satisfying in knowing that a snippy comment made about Blaine's hair could send them into a five minute argument about personal style. It was like a pressure valve was being turned and he could feel the tension flowing out of him.

He watched as Blaine did a double jump followed in combination by a single jump and had to hold himself back from clapping. Blaine's background in dance was helping out enormously with his skating and he seemed to have a natural affinity for jumping. Despite himself, Kurt was impressed. He still resented the fact that he had to babysit a newbie and winced when he thought about the crap he was going to get on the circuit once the other skaters found out, but he did admit that Blaine had come further, faster than he had ever thought possible.

Blaine skated by and lifted one leg out behind him in a perfect Arabesque, the shape of his well-muscled butt cheeks clearly visible beneath his hot pink, patterned leggings. Seriously, where did he find all those hideous clothes?

Luckily, there was a birthday party scheduled on the ice starting at noon, so he and Blaine would be working in the gym in the afternoon doing some strength and flexibility training, and Blaine would have to change out of his skating clothes. Kurt didn't think he had it in him at the moment to look at those pants for very long.

After their morning skating practice and a working lunch with Isabelle spent discussing the training plan for the next month, they retired to the weight room that was set up in the back of the building. The first time they had worked out there, he had nearly swooned when Blaine had taken off his shirt, leaving him clad in just a thin, white undershirt. His small frame was deceptive and Kurt had finally seen the muscles that had been hinted at when Blaine had lifted him up on the first day. His arms and shoulders were nicely developed. Not in a you've-got-to-be-on-steroids-how-do-you-even-find-shirts-that-fit-your-arms sort of way, but just enough so that Kurt was able to imagine them doing some lifts and throw jumps that had not been possible for him to do with Chandler.

After an hour of lifting weights they moved onto separate workouts. Blaine went off to the corner to hit the punching bag, while Kurt practiced some ballet moves in front of the mirror, only letting his eyes stray to the other side of the room once or twice. Okay ten times at the maximum.

Next they came together again to do some Pilates. While Blaine had the strength needed for skating, he was not yet there when it came to the flexibility required for the spins. Kurt looked away as Isabelle helped Blaine sink deeper into a stretch, getting ever closer to being able to do the splits. He would not stare at Blaine's ass. He would not stare at Blaine's ass.

He was staring at Blaine's ass.

He couldn't help it. It was right there in front of him and all hard and shelf-y. If Blaine didn't want him staring at it he should move to the back of the room where Kurt couldn't see. It was all Blaine's fault really. He was probably doing it on purpose.

Suddenly, Kurt was feeling restless and itchy and knew he had to get up and leave the room or he'd try to alleviate the tension by saying something even more biting than he normally did. He excused himself and headed into the locker room, where he dashed some cold water on his face and stared into the mirror, angry with himself over his strange fascination with the curve of Blaine's rear end. His eyes slid away from his reflection for a second and he caught sight of a locker covered in stickers of the Vancouver Canucks logo, crossed hockey sticks, and a big silver cup that Kurt could only assume had something to do with hockey. He narrowed his eyes at the locker and smiled.

He slipped back into the weight room a few minutes later and re-joined the Pilates workout. An hour later they had finished their cool down exercises and Blaine was running off to the locker room, saying he had plans for the evening. Kurt watched him go, thinking unkindly that Blaine probably had a date, but didn't want to give them details because he couldn't remember the guy's name.

Isabelle was showing him a new idea for a lift when the door slammed open and Blaine stalked in, his left hand full of hot pink material. He stood silently in the door, looking accusingly at Kurt as he stretched out the fabric to show that they were his skating pants, now soaking wet, rumpled, and cut up in a few places.

"Kurt, do you have anything to say about this?" he asked, his usually triangular shaped eyebrows flattened out into a ridge over his eyes.

"Oh no!" Kurt cried dramatically as he ran a finger over one of the slash marks. "I guess they must have fallen out of your locker and the kids from the party accidently walked all over them with their skates. Darn. You should be more careful next time. Kids can be so inconsiderate."

Blaine bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile and threw what remained of the garment into the garbage before spinning on his heel and walking out.

Kurt allowed himself to feel just a smidgen of triumph and felt an electric charge run down his spine as he thought about what Blaine might do to pay him back.


	6. Chapter 6

It was late, but Blaine couldn't sleep, so he decided to occupy himself by watching some more skating videos. He typed in a query to find figure skating at the Sochi games and settled back against his pillows. He watched the performances of the three medal winners in Men's Singles before another video caught his eye. A video someone had uploaded from a practice session entitled _Skating Diva Handed a Little of his Own Medicine_. The thumbnail image showed Kurt talking with Sue, his old coach. He clicked on the play button and watched as Sue tore Kurt apart in front of several other skaters and who knew how many other people in the stands. He couldn't begin to guess what dealing with that for over 12 years would do to a person. How, and why, had Kurt put up with it for so long?

He thought about Isabelle's soft, supportive coaching style and wondered how it was possible for two women to be so different. He was suddenly very thankful that he'd never had Sue as a coach, not that such a thing could have even been possible, since she would never have taken a chance on Blaine in the first place.

He turned off his tablet and set it aside as he pulled the covers up. He wondered how long it would take Kurt to stop expecting an attack at any minute, to realize that not everything needed to be a fight.

The next day's practice was a low-key one. Isabelle was out of town, so Kurt and Blaine were on their own. They skated separately for most of the morning and then Kurt gave Blaine a few pointers on how to turn his double-single combination jump into a double-double.

Burt, who was in town for a few days, stopped by to have lunch with them and Blaine was amazed at the immediate difference in Kurt. He smiled throughout the meal and didn't once make a cutting comment. After they cleared the food away, Kurt managed to coax Burt into putting on skates and laughingly held his hands as they tentatively stepped out onto the ice. It wasn't often that Kurt laughed with someone and not at them and Blaine wasn't ashamed to admit that he found the unguarded moment adorable. Kurt was more carefree and boyish than he'd ever seen him. It was a Kurt that he wouldn't mind getting to know better.

Blaine joined them on the ice, but it wasn't too long before Burt cried 'uncle' and requested that they show off some of their moves while he retreated to the bleachers. They went through their routine for him and Blaine couldn't contain his smile when they got a standing ovation at the end.

"I can't believe you've only been skating for two-and-a-half months, Blaine. I'm amazed. You guys already look so great together," Burt called out as they returned to his side.

Kurt shot Blaine the most genuine smile he thought he'd even seen Kurt give as Burt gathered up his things and they walked him to the exit.

"Kurt, Carole called me yesterday and said that she'd heard that Sue gave an interview to _Sporting World_ magazine." Burt stopped just inside the door and removed his baseball hat, scratching absently at his balding head. "Evidently she was gloating about it at a competition last weekend. It's probably about her new coaching job, but I thought I'd warn you, just in case. Maybe she won't even mention you at all."

Kurt's smile dimmed a little. "What are the odds of that? Doesn't matter, though. What can she say behind my back that she hasn't already said to my face a thousand times?" He pulled his dad in for a quick hug and sent him on his way after promising to see him for dinner.

Back on the ice, Blaine couldn't contain his curiosity. "Who's Carole?"

"The woman my dad's dating," Kurt replied absently as he searched his iPod for a playlist for their afternoon practice. "Her son competes in Mixed Pairs. I introduced them at a meet a couple of years ago." The music began to play over the speakers.

Kurt seemed to be in a relatively okay mood, so Blaine felt brave enough to continue. "Why did you stay with Sue for so long? She seems like a pretty miserable human being."

"Because she trains winners and I wanted to be a winner," Kurt shrugged.

"So what made you finally get rid of her?"

That drew a short, cynical laugh from Kurt. "It was more by mutual agreement. Despite her criticisms all those years, she always thought I could make it to the top, but after Sochi she no longer believed it. I don't need people to coddle me or even like me, but I do need them to believe in me at the end of the day."

As Blaine considered that, the music that was playing finally registered. "Uh, can I ask what we're listening to? It's kind of…depressing."

"Philistine," Kurt tone was derisive, but not as much so as it would have been the week before. "This is the soundtrack to _Parade_, a highly emotional and criminally overlooked score."

"Sorry," Blaine apologized as he lifted his hands up in surrender. "I think it was before my time. I really only listen to soundtracks of musicals I've seen performed live. I kind of need the visual in my head in order to get everything from the songs, especially the emotional ones."

Kurt closed his eyes and tilted his head back a little as he listened to the rise of the music. "Nonsense. A great song is a great song. You can enjoy it just on its own merits."

"Yeah, but a great song that you enjoy can become an emotional powerhouse through the visual. Tell me that you didn't cry when the animals start to come out onstage during the opening number of _The Lion King_, I dare you. You don't get that feeling from just listening to the music."

Kurt avoided his gaze and grabbed his water bottle off the top of the boards. "I've haven't actually seen it performed. I only know the soundtrack."

Blaine was shocked. "How on earth have you never seen _The Lion King_?"

"I've…I've never seen a Broadway show live before. I've seen a few community productions, but…" He broke off when he saw Blaine's expression of horror and disbelief. "What? I practice ten hours a day, six days a week. I've spent the past several years promoting Similar Pairs and helping to get a new sport off the ground. I choreographed my own routines and then had to go home and work on…other stuff, so I didn't have time to fly off and see a Broadway show." With each word Kurt's voice rose higher and his gestures got bigger, until finally the water bottle lid he was holding went flying from his hand. He skated over to it and, with a scowl on his face, kicked it with his blade so that it went sailing all the way to the other end of the rink.

Blaine watched it fly smoothly down the ice and shook his head admiringly. "Gosh, what I wouldn't give to see you play hockey."

Kurt spun around abruptly and looked him straight in the eye. "Any time."

=^..^=

The contest was simple. One of them would defend the goal and the other would try and score, Kurt from approximately where the blue line should be and Blaine from center ice. Kurt would have twice as many chances and who ever made the most goals would win. Blaine set up a make-shift hockey goal at one end of the ice and went to his locker to retrieve his hockey sticks and some pucks.

As soon as Blaine turned the corner into the locker room hallway, Kurt leaned his elbows onto the boards and sunk his head into his hands. What was he doing? Despite being a world-ranked figure skater he was not what one would call a "sporty" guy. There was no way he could see this contest ending that didn't result in his complete and utter humiliation. Blaine was going to wipe the floor with him and he would never hear in the end of it. No one ever called Kurt Hummel a quitter, though, so he squared his shoulders and skated over to where he would be shooting from so that he could plan his strategy.

They flipped a coin to see who would shoot first and Blaine won. He helped Kurt put on the old goalie gloves and chest padding that he'd found in the equipment room and Kurt tried not to think about how many other people had worn the musty things over the years. He skated over to the goal and turned back to face Blaine, his heart beating a mile-a-minute, which was about as long as it took Blaine to score 9 out of 10 shots on him. It would have been 10 out of 10, but Kurt made a lucky swipe with his stick at the seventh puck that sent it ricocheting off in the opposite direction.

Blaine didn't say anything, except for counting off the goals, but his gloating smile spoke volumes.

They switched places and Blaine crouched with his hands on his knees in front of the goal, beckoning Kurt to take a few practice shots. His first puck didn't even make it half-way to the goal line and the second reached the correct distance, but was way off-center. Finally he got the hang of it, though, and he moved forward to take his first official shot.

Blaine easily batted away the first two pucks, sending them spinning harmlessly off to the side. The third puck again didn't make the distance and the fourth bounced off Blaine's skate blade. The sixth sailed right into Blaine's glove and he tossed it up in the air cockily, setting Kurt's teeth on edge.

He stared down at the seventh puck and pretended that Blaine's smug little face was smiling back at him from its surface. He twirled the stick a few times in the air, then drew it back above his shoulder and swung with all his might, a warrior cry sounding from his throat.

=^..^=

"He should have known better than to play with an amateur. I mean, who in their right mind would think giving _me_ a hockey stick was a good idea? It's all his fault, really."

Kurt and Burt sat alone in the quiet Lima General Hospital hallway as they waited for Blaine to emerge from behind the emergency room doors.

"Kurt, it was an accident. It was no one's fault," Burt said in a soothing voice as he patted Kurt's shoulder. "I'm sure he's had his nose broken before, given how long he's been playing hockey. He'll be fine."

"Of course he'll be fine. I'm just worried that he'll sue me, that's all," Kurt replied dismissively as he snuck another glance towards the swinging doors.

Burt shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "That isn't the truth and we both know it."

"Then what is?" Kurt asked as he looked down at the floor and traced his toe over a loosening edge of a piece of linoleum.

"You're worried because you've finally found the right partner and you're afraid to mess it up."

Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but right then the doors opened and an orderly walked through pushing Blaine in a wheelchair. His head was swaddled in bandages that covered one eye and a cheekbone. His other eye looked dazed and in pain. Kurt rushed over and knelt down next to him. "Oh my God. I thought it was just your nose. I didn't aggravate your concussion did I?"

Blaine looked up at him and shook his head slowly. He opened his mouth then closed it.

"What?" Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand and squeezed it. "Do you need something? You can tell me."

Blaine reached up his other hand and pulled the bandages off, revealing the dark bruise around his eye and nose. He smiled. "Toe pick!"

Kurt pushed back and stood up, looking down at Blaine in disbelief, relief and anger waging a war inside of him. He heard a chuckle from beside him and saw his dad unsuccessfully try to hide a smile. He spun on his heel with a growl and stomped down the hallway and out the front doors.

=^..^=

Blaine realized later that the hockey incident seemed to mark a turning point in his and Kurt's partnership. They didn't become the best of friends, by any means, but Kurt no longer seemed to be on a personal mission to drive him away. That wasn't to say that Kurt became a little ray of sunshine; he just didn't act worse with Blaine than he did with anyone else. In return, Blaine stopped wearing his day-glo colored warm-up gear and began to dress in muted blues, blacks, and greens. There was still a little jockeying for position between them, but nothing more than one would expect from regular teammates. They still didn't hang around together outside of the rink, but Blaine was slowly coming to know Kurt a little better as he became less and less defensive.

It was the last practice before Thanksgiving when Blaine felt like he finally began to make headway. He came into the rink one morning and found Kurt in the middle of performing a series of triple jumps. His triple axel with an arm raised above his head in what Blaine now knew was 'Tano style was Blaine's favorite.

When Kurt had successfully landed the jump and was casually skating out of it, Blaine finally asked the question that had been tickling at him since the beginning. "Why didn't you just become a singles skater when you were having such a hard time finding a partner?"

Kurt skated beside him as Blaine walked over to the benches and set his bag down. "I don't have the Quad, which is required now to even begin to compete at a national level. Also, my mom was a Pairs skater, so I am too."

Blaine pulled his skates out and began to put them on. "You did Mixed Pairs for so long. Do you miss it?"

Kurt leaned against the wall, a thoughtful look on his face. "Not really, though Mixed Pairs throws and lifts can be really exciting. I do miss Santana, my old partner, though. It might not have looked like it from the outside, but we were really good friends. The best, actually."

Blaine heard the melancholy in his voice. "Were?" he asked tentatively, not wanting to spoil the nice little moment they had going.

"I was honest with her from the beginning that I would switch over if Similar Pairs was officially sanctioned, but I don't think she ever really believed it would happen. She was livid when the decision came down and I started looking for a new partner. She hasn't spoken to me since." Kurt looked sad for a moment, his gaze unfocused. Then he shook his head, as if tossing aside the unpleasant thoughts. "What about you? Do you miss hockey? Testosterone and sweat in the air and all that?"

Blaine felt a pang in his chest at the question. "Every day. I'd been doing it for so long that at first it was like I was missing a limb. I started in pee wee hockey as a little kid. My dad was the coach, so at the time there wasn't really an option of me playing or not. It turned out to be really good for us, though. I think that me playing hockey really helped him deal with my coming out. He saw me still doing what was, in his mind, 'guy stuff' and, I don't know, it made it easier for him to deal. We still had something in common we could talk about." Blaine pulled on a sweater and joined Kurt on the ice.

"How did you end up doing it professionally?" Kurt asked as they began their warm-up.

"I went to private school starting in the sixth grade and joined the school hockey team." He matched his speed with Kurt as they made the first turn. "As a sophomore I was elected Captain of the team, but I'd started to branch out a little, too. I was lead singer of the Warblers, our school's glee club, and was in the drama club. I never seriously thought about playing hockey professionally, so I went to college and majored in theater. I was on the college hockey team, though, and a scout from the NHL saw me and convinced me to enter the draft. The rest is history, I guess."

Kurt sent him a sideways glance. "Did you ever have a problem with the other guys on your teams? About your being gay, I mean?" he questioned, a slight waver in his voice.

"Not really. My school had a no bullying policy and my friends always supported me. I mean, there were a few guys over the years that had a problem, but the others always had my back." Blaine knew how unusual his childhood had been and definitely felt blessed that he hadn't experienced the amount of bullying and hate that most other gay kids had. His worst experiences had come once he'd joined the Canucks, when some of the hockey "fans" had taken an exception to him, but he'd been able to avoid most of the drama by being careful what he read about himself and ignoring the taunting when he was in the penalty box.

"Popular, well-liked, and never a real problem caused by being gay, despite growing up in Ohio. Sounds like a charmed life." Blaine knew Kurt probably meant to sound snippy, but he thought it just came off as kind of wistful.

"Yeah, until last February, I guess it was," he smiled sadly.

They skated in silence for a few minutes and waved "Hello" to Isabelle when she came in. As she got her notes together for the practice, they finished up their warm-up.

"I've been skating since before I can remember," Kurt said suddenly as they performed a synchronized serpentine element. "The Olympics were always my goal. Nothing else mattered. I didn't have a social life, no friends except Santana, but I didn't care. My sights were set on that gold medal and nothing was going to stop me, not even when the expense nearly bankrupted my father."

"Wow, that's rough," Blaine sympathized. "What changed?"

"Santana and I got some sponsors when we started getting higher up in the rankings, many of which stayed with me when I made the switch to SP. There's really only one that stuck around after the Olympics, but I'm sure more will come in once we start competing. As for now…I have a few other things that bring in money and dad makes a lot more as a Congressman than he ever did just owning the garage, so we're good." Kurt smiled over at him reassuringly.

Blaine felt a little awkward discussing the Hummel's money issues when he'd grown up in the lap of luxury with his well-to-do parents, so he moved the conversation onto another topic. "What did your friends think of you skating when you were younger? Do you think they realized how good you were?"

Kurt looked away and began to fiddle with the drawstring on his perfectly distressed hoodie. "I-I didn't have friends growing up. I was home schooled and spent all of my time on the ice, so it was just me and whoever I was skating with at the moment."

"Really? You never went to regular school?" Blaine couldn't imagine what his life would have been like without the friendships and experiences he'd gotten in school. He felt another pang in his chest at how lonely Kurt's life must have been.

"Freshman year I injured my ankle and had to reduce my time on the ice, so I tried going to the local high school that year." Kurt shifted uncomfortably and their movements got out of sync. "I only ended up staying a few weeks."

"Why?"

"I discovered that Dumpster green just wasn't my color." With that, Kurt sped up and skated on ahead of Blaine, leaving him to hope that all of the bad scenarios he was now picturing in his head were wrong and that maybe the school's colors had just been a horrible shade of green. Somehow, though, he didn't think that was the case.

=^..^=

The long Thanksgiving weekend had been a good one for Kurt. The time away from Blaine had helped him further process what his dad had said about him finally finding the right partner. He didn't want to admit it, but he supposed it was true. While Blaine still had a long way to go to match him technically, he couldn't deny that he was the first one to actually _feel_ like a partner since he'd split with Santana.

His dad had been in town for Thanksgiving, which always raised Kurt's spirits and they'd had a quiet little celebration with just the two of them. As he became more senior in Congress, Burt was spending more and more time in Washington. Kurt missed him horribly when he was gone, but he was too old to need his father around all the time, so he pushed the feelings away and carried on as if nothing was wrong.

It was harder to pretend, though, after having had four whole days with him. Now that the house was empty again, Kurt felt more alone than ever. It seemed as if all he ever did was train, train, train. He didn't speak with that many people outside of skating and sometimes had to physically restrain himself from picking up the phone and trying to get Santana to talk to him. He hadn't seen his boyfriend, Adam, in several months and hadn't spoken to him in two weeks and didn't even really care that much, but there were times when the loneliness just got to be too much.

After their first practice back, Kurt slipped his coat on and pulled his bag out of his locker. He was finally going to give in and see if Blaine wanted to hang out that evening. He was new in town and spent just as much time training as Kurt did, so he must be lacking in the social life area also. He came out of the locker room and looked around for Blaine, finally finding him over talking with Artie, the Zamboni driver. Artie had been resurfacing the ice for years at the rink before Kurt had realized that he was in a wheelchair. He'd been shocked at first, unsure of how someone in a wheelchair could get up into the high set vehicle, but Artie had shown him the lifting device that April Rhodes had had installed that got him up to the height of the driver's seat.

Artie let out a burst of laughter as Kurt approached them, and clapped Blaine on the back. "My man, you got game, yo. I've never seen someone come away with so many phone numbers in one night. That must be a record or something. It was definitely worth driving all the way to Columbus just to see that."

"Please," Blaine sniffed dismissively, "that was nothing. I once got 20 numbers in one night after a play-off win in Vancouver. Now _that_ was a good night, let me tell you."

Artie crowed at Blaine's boast and shook his head. "Hey, I was just happy to be around to sooth the disappointment of all the ladies who came by to hit on you. Well, at least tell me that you hooked up with one of those guys at the bar when you disappeared for a while last night. One of us had to get lucky last night and I know it wasn't me."

"No, I did not hook up with one of those guys last night." Blaine's wide smile hinted that that wasn't the end of the story.

"Inconceivable!" Artie cried. "How could…Wait, don't tell me. It was _two_ guys, wasn't it? Aw yeah."

Blaine waggled his eyebrows and grinned. "A gentleman never tells."

Kurt must have made a noise, because both Blaine and Artie looked over at him just then. His face burned with embarrassment over having interrupted their male bonding and from hearing the details of Blaine's conquest of Columbus's gay nightlife. "I'm just leaving, so I just wanted to remind Blaine to lock up. Um…see you guys later."

He walked swiftly to his car and pulled the door shut behind him with a bang before dropping his head forward onto the steering wheel. It'd been stupid of him to think that Blaine would want to hang around with him outside of practice. He obviously had much better options. So much for blaming his lack of a social life on skating. And now he couldn't stop picturing Blaine pinned up against the wall of a nightclub while two guys kissed at his neck. Great. Just great.

=^..^=

It was a week before Christmas and Blaine was looking forward to getting some time off. He'd really grown to love skating, but the daily grind was getting to him. He would have ten glorious days without an ice rink in sight and he planned on spending at least half of that time in bed, preferably not alone. He'd made plans to meet up with Jean Luc, a charming guy from Paris that he'd met one night while out with Artie and if things went as planned it might be a _very_ Merry Christmas indeed.

But first he had to get through these last two practices. He was trying to master centering his scratch spin and so far it was kicking his butt. Unlike Kurt, who could spin forever and not move more than an inch on the ice, Blaine was all over the place, sometimes ending up several feet from where he started. It had taken him forever just to get to the point where he could spin without getting dizzy and falling over. One of the best times he had spent with Kurt so far had been when Kurt was trying to teach him how to properly spot during a spin. They'd both spun so much that they'd gotten slap happy and collapsed into a giggling pile on the ice, their laughter so contagious that they'd even brought Isabelle down with them.

He pushed off with one foot and began to spin slowly, his arms and one leg outstretched. Then he began to bend the leg in and down and pull his arms in and up, forcing the spin to get faster and faster. He finished the spin and looked down at the ice, cursing when he saw the tell-tale trail of blade marks that showed how far he'd travelled.

"Somehow I don't think that's the way it's supposed to look, Squirt."

Blaine looked up at the familiar voice. "Cooper! What are you doing here?" He skated over to the side of the ice where his brother stood.

"School's closed up for the holiday so I thought I'd come by and see what my little baby bro has been up to." Cooper reached out to hook an arm around Blaine's neck and pulled him in so that he could rub his knuckles across his head.

"Ouch. Stop it. You'll mess up my hair," Blaine grumbled as he lifted a protective hand to said hair. "Hey guys!" he called to Kurt and Isabelle who were conferring about choreography at the other end of the ice. "Come meet my brother."

He chatted with Cooper while they made their way over and smiled at Isabelle when she came to stand next to him. Blaine looked back as she was shaking Cooper's hand, wondering where Kurt was. He found him standing frozen on the ice with a star struck expression that had Blaine groaning. Oh no, not another one.

"Y-you-you're the Free Credit Rating Today guy," Kurt stammered, red blotches blooming on his cheeks.

"Well, that I am," Cooper preened. "Longest running commercial pitch man on TV right now. I'm closing in on the Energizer Bunny's run. I'm always glad to meet a fan."

Blaine rolled his eyes as Kurt lurched forward to shake Cooper's hand. His brother was always insufferable for days after he'd a fan encounter. He prayed that Cooper got it out of his system by Christmas or his trip home was not going to be fun.

Kurt gave a nervous laugh as Cooper released his hand and Blaine hoped that he wasn't about to make some comment about never washing his hand again, because he might have to hurl if that happened.

"I used to have your jingle as my ring tone," Kurt said, his expression still a little dazed.

"Used to?" Cooper pouted as he gave Kurt his best sad puppy dog eyes.

The blotches on Kurt's face got even redder, if that was even possible. "Oh yeah I…well, I…"

Blaine stepped in to rescue Kurt from himself. "Cooper, knock it off. Stop teasing."

They showed Cooper around the building and ordered pizza in for lunch. Blaine noticed that Kurt was pretty quiet, listening attentively while he and Cooper goofed around, but not adding much to the conversation. After lunch they took to the ice and Blaine self-consciously showed off his newfound skills. It was his first time performing for anyone that he knew and he found it extremely nerve racking. He almost felt as if he was about to be sick and he hoped it wasn't an indicator of how he would feel on competition days with thousands of people watching.

Cooper applauded loudly as he and Kurt finished off the simple dance moves that they'd been working on for a month or so.

"This is all due to me, I hope you realize," Cooper called out over the ice.

Blaine snowplowed over to where Cooper was standing. "And how did you come to that conclusion," he asked skeptically.

"Two things, actually. One: the dancing lessons I gave you as a kid obviously paid off. You weren't born with that sense of rhythm, Squirt, I painstakingly crafted it through long hours of dedicated effort on my part; and two: it was at my school that you were 'discovered' as it were. If not for me the lovely and oh-so-talented Isabelle here still wouldn't know that you exist. I expect a mention in all your post-win interviews and partial custody of any Olympic medals."

Their ensuing argument about medal custody agreements soon gave way to plans to go out that evening. Blaine packed up his things and they were halfway to the door before Blaine turned back to Kurt, who was still sitting on the benches, playing with the laces of his skates.

"Hey, want to come with us?" Kurt's head came up as Blaine yelled across the space between them. "Cooper may be annoying and full of crap, but he almost always figures out a way to get someone to buy us drinks."

Kurt looked as if he was considering it for a second before shaking his head. "No thanks. Plans you know. Big plans. Busy, busy. See you tomorrow. And don't be late. I'm picking dad and Adam up at the airport, so I need to leave by four o'clock."

Blaine was tempted to argue with him, but Cooper was pulling on his arm, making choking noises and pretending to be dying of thirst. He tossed a wave back at Kurt and they were off. Maybe next time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Here, have an update to pass this final week of hiatus hell. There will be no updates for the next two weeks, as I'll be on vacation and without internet. See you in a few weeks!**

* * *

Blaine had known that figure skating would take him places, he just hadn't thought that one of those place would be Greensboro, North Carolina. He and Kurt were at the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships so that Blaine could attend his first major skating competition and so that they could get a first-hand look at the teams they would likely be facing when they were ready to begin competing themselves.

As they stepped into the arena where the Short Program portion of the Mixed Pairs competition was due to be held later in the day, Blaine felt a rush of adrenalin shoot through him. He knew that he was nowhere near ready enough to be competing himself, but he was itching to step out onto the ice in front of the roaring crowd and looked forward to the day when he and Kurt would be in a similar arena for their own final practice instead of just being there to watch others.

Kurt had been nervous that morning about seeing his old acquaintances in the skating world again. Since the Olympics, he had mostly kept to himself in Lima and hadn't really spoken to any reporters or fellow skaters, except for those who'd auditioned for him. Blaine was sure people had heard about Kurt's new novice partner and this would be their first opportunity to see him, so he was definitely a little apprehensive, too.

They'd decided to attend the Mixed Pairs final practice session that day so that Blaine could see how things worked without having to worry about meeting other Similar Pairs teams right away. They had only been in the building for five minutes, though, when that plan was foiled. As they came around a corner, Blaine heard a high, nasally laugh and felt Kurt tense up beside him. Coming down the hallway, from the opposite direction, was Chandler Kiehl and a taller man that Blaine knew he recognized, but couldn't name.

"Well, well, well," Not-Chandler sneered at Kurt as they drew closer. "If it isn't our own little Goldilocks, returned to the fold after his exhaustive search for a partner that's _just right_." Not-Chandler turned to Blaine and ran his eyes up and down his body with an insulting thoroughness. "You look like you might be the perfect fit to me. And no, I don't mean skating."

Kurt fixed a look of disgust on him that was worse than anything he'd ever directed at Blaine. "No one thought for a moment that you did, Sebastian. After all, you've never met a double entendre that you didn't like and have never been one for originality."

"Yes, I'm quite the fan of the double…entendre," Sebastian winked lasciviously at Blaine as he paused and Blaine wasn't sure if he was flattered or a little wigged out by the attention. "You should come watch us practice tomorrow. See what some real skating looks like for a change."

"Don't you have a bathhouse or back alley appointment you're late for?" Kurt asked in an overly sweet tone that always served as a warning for Blaine when he heard it. "Or do the places you favor not accept reservations? Maybe you just take a number from one of those little red wheels and wait until your number is called." He smiled evilly and pitched his voice lower. "Number 384, your blowjob is ready now."

"Why Kurt, I'm surprised you even know such a naughty, dirty word. I thought that eunuchs weren't interested in such things." Sebastian looked over at Blaine when he gaped at the choice of words. "What, you didn't know? He has to be, right? It's the only explanation for that voice."

"Hey, if you guys really want to settle who has the biggest dick, I'll volunteer to hold the ruler," Chandler said from behind them.

Blaine looked at Chandler with a surprise that was mirrored by Kurt and Sebastian. He'd forgotten that the other man was even there, to be honest, and from Kurt's expression he could see that his response was probably a little out of character. He had to hold back his laughter at the innocent, helpful expression Chandler was sporting.

Kurt said a belated hello to his former partner and gave Sebastian the stink-eye as they passed each other and went their separate ways. Blaine didn't know whether to laugh, sink into the floor in embarrassment, or just give thanks that Kurt's ire was no longer aimed at him.

"Wow, you and that Sebastian guy really hate each other, huh?" Blaine asked as they settled into their seats five rows from the ice. "Did you guys used to date or something?"

"Oh my God. If you want me to keep speaking to you I suggest you never utter the words 'Sebastian' and 'dating' together in the same sentence ever, ever again. It makes my skin crawl just thinking of it." Kurt gave an exaggerated shudder as he sunk back in his seat.

"Come on, he wasn't that bad." Kurt side-eyed him hard. "Seriously, though, what's the problem between you two?"

Kurt clapped with the hundred or so other people in the building as the first group of skaters hit the ice to practice. "We both started competing around the same time, so we've known each other forever. About the time we hit the national level I caught Sebastian loosening the stiches in my performance costumer. If I hadn't caught him and fixed it I would have split my pants wide open in the middle of my routine. It was just one in a long series of sabotage attempts over the years, none of which, I'm proud to say, were successful. Then, last March he came sniffing around when it was leaked that Chandler and I had decided not to skate together any more. He'd just gotten dumped by his partner — they were dating and Raul caught Sebastian in bed with a sports reporter — and was desperate to find someone new. I turned him down and he had to settle for Chandler instead."

Blaine wanted to get more information on the sabotage — after all, what all could someone do to try and ruin a skater's performance other than club them Tanya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan style? — but his attention was diverted by a pair on the ice that performed a spectacular lift that had the woman being lifted up and tossed around like she weighed nothing at all. "Wow," he said as he nodded towards the couple, "I'm glad we don't have to do those. I think I'd need a couple more years to prepare."

"Hmm…Rachel Berry and Jesse St. James," Kurt said absently as he watched them do a throw jump that sent Rachel sailing in the air at least ten feet from her partner. "She's so tiny that they excel at the big throws and lifts. They don't do as well on the artistic side. They have so much naked ambition between the two of them that they often seem a little calculated. Their facial expressions are hysterical, though. Seriously, just watch them, it's like watching old time silent movies."

They snickered at the couple's overdone looks of pain and love for a few minutes before a pair of blond skaters caught Blaine's attention. "What about them?"

Kurt looked where Blaine was pointing and smiled. "Brittany Pierce and Sam Evans. Isabelle used to be their coach, but they wanted to move to California and she didn't want to go, so they parted ways. Brittany's got the best footwork of any female skater right now. Sam's not really on her level, but he's super strong, so their lifts are really amazing and intricate."

"Do you know anyone else in this group?" Blaine asked as he glanced at the other three couples on the ice.

"The pair in black is Tina Cohen-Chang and Mike Chang …"

"Brother and sister or married?" Blaine interrupted.

"Neither, surprisingly, but I'm sure marriage is coming soon. They've been dating for years. I don't know the other two couples. They must be new this year." Kurt leaned forward and laid his arms on the chair in front of him, signaling the end of their conversation.

They watched the skaters for a while and when they left the ice, Kurt suggested they go down to the skater waiting area and try to find Isabelle, who was down visiting with her old teams.

Kurt had managed to get them special visitor's credentials, so they were allowed past security to the backstage areas. As they walked in, Blaine was struck at how different it was from the hockey locker rooms he was used to. Instead of smelly jerseys and pads lying around, he saw sparkly headbands and chic warm-up jackets. Instead of bloody cuts and bruised noses, there were people practicing dance moves and doing the splits with their legs halfway up a wall. It was a different world.

They had only been in the room for a few seconds when Blaine heard a screech from several feet away. "Kurt Hummel!" A blur flew across the room and attached itself to Kurt's neck. "Did daddy get me another Christmas present that he didn't tell me about?" The blur, which Blaine now realized, was a girl with shoulder length brown hair, put a hand on either side of Kurt's head and smooshed his face together. He decided she must be either very brave or know Kurt _a lot _better than he did. "Look at that face! If only you weren't gay as Richard Gere's gerbil. What beautiful babies we would have made. Could still make, if you'd take me up on my offer. The money daddy offered you for your…help was very generous."

Kurt tried to talk, but Blaine couldn't understand him with his face still gripped so tightly. He finally got his hands around the girl's wrists and pried her hands from his face. "Sugar, I still haven't gotten over that disturbing offer enough to get to the flattered stage. Let's just drop it, okay?"

Sugar just shrugged and shot him a look that promised it wasn't the end of that particular discussion. Then she turned her gaze to Blaine. "Who's the man candy? Have you been holding out on us?"

Kurt glanced around the room to make sure no one else could overhear. "Sugar Motta, this is Blaine Anderson. Blaine, Sugar is a SP skater. She skates with Quinn Fabray over there." Blaine glanced around to see a cool looking, classically beautiful blonde sitting on a mat in the corner stretching her hamstrings. "Sugar, Blaine is-is my new partner."

"New partner!" Sugar screamed.

And suddenly everyone in the room was looking at them.

"Well, at least he's better looking than Chandler," a husky voice noted from somewhere behind Blaine. "Though _that_ isn't exactly saying much, is it?"

Kurt looked over Blaine's shoulder and froze. "Santana."

"Kurt." Santana sauntered up and moved Sugar aside with just a look. "Still abusing the hairspray, I see. But it looks like Eugene here at least keeps you company while you shop in the hair care section."

Ah, yes, a comment about his hair. Kurt and Santana really _were_ a lot alike. "It's Blaine, actually," he said with hopefully just the right amount of pleasantness in his voice as he looked at the woman in front of him. He would have recognized her anywhere from all the videos he'd seen of her performances and interviews, but he was shocked to see that she was even more beautiful in person. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail that emphasized the sleek lines of her face and her tight skating costume left little to the imagination. Blaine wondered how any of the straight guys in the room got anything done with her around.

"Not with that hair it isn't," she smirked.

"Santana, it's good to see you. It's been a while." Kurt crossed his arms protectively and looked at Santana with just a hint of wariness in his eyes.

It was very odd to see Kurt be the uneasy, uncomfortable one. He looked at Santana with barely disguised hopefulness and Blaine wondered if she missed their friendship as much as Kurt did. It'd been several years since they'd gone their separate ways, so surely she must be over her anger by now, right? Blaine hoped that there was a way that they could be friends again and thought about what he might be able to do to make that happen.

"Mmm," Santana responded non-committedly. "I'm surprised to see you down here with all us Mixed Pairs riff-raff."

"Hey!" Sugar protested, waving a hand to show that not everyone in the room was part of Mixed Pairs.

Santana eyed her dismissively before turning back to Kurt. "You'd better go find your other SP buddies. It's been so long since you've been around that you might have forgotten the secret handshake that gets you into the exclusive clubhouse. Oh, wait, it's just the leather bar down the street, isn't it? So maybe it isn't a hand that you'll be shaking." She touched her tongue to her top front teeth and waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Blaine was sure his confusion showed on his face.

"What, you didn't know that SP is the flavor of the month when it comes to the skating press?" Santana asked mockingly. "The rest of us are just considered the opening act for now. All the celebs and politicians want their pictures taken with the SP skaters. Most of the sponsors want them, too. That leaves the rest of us to pretend to be happy and grateful with the leftovers. Don't get too comfortable, though, Eugene. Once the novelty is over and people realize that you don't have the quads of the single skaters, or the big elements of the Mixed Pairs, they'll forget all about you and turn their attentions back where they belong. To those of us with actual talent. And then we'll see how long it takes for the defectors to come running back, crying and begging to their old partners like the bitches they are."

Okay, so maybe Santana was still a little angry.

Just then, an extremely tall man walked up and patted Kurt's shoulder hard enough to send him rocking back a bit.

"Dude, good to see you. Mom didn't say you were coming. Is your dad here, too?" he asked.

Kurt regained his balance and smiled up at him slightly. "No, it's just Isabelle, Blaine, and I. Blaine, this is Finn. He skates with Santana. Finn, this is Blaine, my new partner."

Finn reached out to shake Blaine's hand and said hello. Blaine thought he seemed like an okay guy, though kind of goofy and way too good natured to be paired up with someone like Santana. It would be like watching a lioness pounce on a baby water buffalo. An observation that was proven true just a minute later.

"Is that pizza sauce on your shirt?" Santana asked, staring at the fresh red stain on Finn's shirt.

"Uh…" Finn paused, his eyes darting guilty around the room. "Maybe?"

"And did you not, just last night, promise to stop eating crap during the competition season? If you gain one more pound they're going to have to start introducing us as 'Santana Lopez and Shamu, the amazing skating whale.'"

"I…forgot?"

Santana's glare would have frozen molten lava. "Well, you can forget whatever else you had planned right now and go run around the building ten times to work off all that fat and grease."

"But Puck and I were going to go around to the stage door and see if any rink bunnies were waiting to get our autographs," Finn protested. Santana stared him down until his shoulders slumped. "Fine. Ten laps."

He and Santana walked a few feet away while she continued to berate him and Blaine stared after them with wide eyes.

"What?" Kurt asked when Blaine let out a little snort.

"Nothing, just for a second there I thought it was Freaky Friday and that you and Santana had switched bodies. The personality resemblance is kind of uncanny," Blaine observed, shaking his head in amazement.

"Ha ha," Kurt's response was dry, but he didn't seem offended.

"So, that's Finn, huh?" Blaine asked. "The guy whose mom is dating your dad? You didn't mention that he was Santana's partner."

"He used to skate with Quinn, but when she decided to switch over to SP he needed a new partner and so did Santana, so… I'm not convinced they make the best partners, but they almost made it to the Olympics last time, so what do I know?"

The door flew open and the couples who'd been out on the ice earlier came streaming in. Blaine, who was still looking towards Santana and Finn, couldn't help but notice when Santana's eyes flew to the newly arrived people, zeroing in on the girl that Kurt had called Brittany. When Brittany stopped to greet Kurt, Santana abandoned her tirade mid-sentence and wandered over to stand next to her.

"Brit, I loved the new short program costume you wore at the Portland Invitational. You looked beautiful." Santana smiled at Brittany as she spoke and Blaine could have sworn that she blushed a little.

Brittany beamed and gave Santana a quick hug. "I know, isn't it amazing? It's a Blackbird. I was so lucky to get it."

Everyone nodded their agreement and Blaine felt like he had missed something. "A blackbird?"

"Blackbird is the hottest costume designer out there right now," Sugar explained. "Everyone wants a costume done by them, but there's a long waiting list and they're very selective about their clients. Even offering to pay twice the regular price hasn't put me higher on the list. And my daddy's not used to hearing 'no' from anyone."

The conversation meandered from costumes to the horrible trend that the European skaters had started recently of using electronic dance music in their routines. A few questions were directed Blaine's way, but Kurt did a great job of redirecting everyone's attention on to other topics. Not that Blaine would have minded talking about himself, but he knew that he didn't have the best answers yet for many of their questions and didn't want to embarrass Kurt or get into a discussion that would just expose his ignorance to everyone. There would be time enough later to talk more about his background and skating skills.

Finally, it was time for the couples to begin getting ready for their Short Programs, so Kurt and Blaine said their goodbyes and headed back towards their seats. As the skating started, Kurt performed a running commentary on the music, costumes, and skating, pointing out to Blaine when he saw things he should really pay attention to.

As they were waiting on the scores for the final couple, Blaine turned to Kurt. "You know, I think you were wrong," he said thoughtfully.

Kurt looked up at him with an absentminded frown, his attention still half on the scoreboard. "What about?"

"That Santana was your only friend in skating. From what I saw, Sugar, Brittany, and Sam definitely think of you as a friend." Blaine saw Kurt furrow his brow as he spoke. "Just something to consider. They seemed awfully happy to see you for non-friends. You could build something there, if you wanted."

He turned back to the ice, clapping softly as the final scores were posted. The evening ended with Santana and Finn in first place, a few points ahead of Rachel and Jesse, and Blaine knew that he wasn't imagining the glimmer of pride on Kurt's face when he looked at the reader board.

=^..^=

Kurt came through the automatic doors into the hotel lobby, back from taking a walk around the neighborhood. He'd come up with some new ideas for a costume while he was out and was anxious to get back to his room to put them down on paper. He had loved seeing Brittany in the outfit he'd designed for her and had had to bite his tongue from saying too much. He'd fought for too long to keep the fact that he was Blackbird a secret; he didn't want it to get out through an inadvertent slip of his tongue.

His designing career hadn't been anything that he'd planned. He'd designed a set of costumes for himself and Santana years ago and had been so scared to show her the drawings that he'd made up the name of a fictitious designer to attribute them to. They'd worn them for their first Nationals competition and afterwards had been swamped by people asking where they'd gotten the outfits. Suddenly, "Blackbird" was on everyone's lips and Kurt had enough requests to keep him busy for a year and enough money to carry him through the leaner times.

He never met personally with any of his clients and none of them knew who he was. He realized that some skaters would be reluctant to have another skater designing costumes for them. Competition was fierce and some, especially those in SP, would think that he had an ulterior motive. He also liked being able to shut that part of himself away and not be bothered with requests or pleas to be moved up the list whenever he was in the company of other skaters. Those weren't the real reasons he kept his identity a secret, though. Mainly, he was just afraid that if people knew that he was Blackbird they wouldn't want the clothes anymore. He had burned a lot of bridges over the years and knew that a lot of people would walk away, no matter how spectacular the outfit, if his name was attached.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped in, only to find that he wasn't alone. Sue Sylvester was already there and smirked at him in that irritating way she had as he reluctantly reached over and pushed the number of his floor.

"Hey quitter!" she said in a cheery voice that grated on his nerves. "I see you're back to torture yourself by watching actual skilled skaters. You should give yourself a break and get tickets to the Ice Capades instead."

"You know, you said something very similar to me the very first time I met you," Kurt watched as the numbers above the door lit up to indicate the glacially slow ascent the elevator was making. "You said that I had a lazy work ethic and no talent and that I was doomed to a lifetime of skating around wearing a Snoopy costume if I didn't decide to work with you. I think that was a month after my mom died. At least you're consistent."

The doors opened on Sue's floor and she stepped into the doorway to prevent the elevator from closing. "And I was right then, just like I'm right now. What's this I hear about you trying to bring a hockey player up to snuff for the next Olympics? Did you get hired to do some ridiculous 'triumph of the human spirit' reality show that I'm not aware of? Am I on camera right now?" she asked as she smoothed a hand over her hair and began to preen.

"No, I'm just training a new partner, nothing more than that." The elevator began to issue a warning buzz that Kurt hoped would convince her to step aside.

"Then you're even more pathetic than I thought. Listen there's only three ways this can possibly go." She lifted up one finger right in front of his face. "You'll spend another year waiting for the training wheels to come off your tragic new partner only to discover that he still doesn't know his axel from his ass." She lifted up a second finger. "You'll qualify for Nationals through some bizarre act of God — or of Congress, pushed through by your father, no doubt — and then go on to embarrass yourself on national TV, or," she lifted up a final finger, "you can retire now and maybe eek out a living making color commentary on Logo. Take the last option, kid. You have as much chance of making it to the Olympics again as Rush Limbaugh does of being named 'Gay Humanitarian of the Year.'"

"As much as your altruistic advice moves me, I think I'll pass, thanks. Blaine and I are doing just fine and I have complete confidence that when we're ready to compete we will wipe the floor with Chandler and Sebastian." The elevator gave up trying to warn Sue out of the way and the doors began to force their way closed, so Sue backed out, glaring at Kurt as she went. Just as the doors closed completely, Kurt couldn't resist adding one more little dig. "Enjoy this year as much as you can, Sue. We're coming for you."


	8. Chapter 8

After they returned from Greensboro, Kurt and Blaine sat down with Isabelle and decided that their goal was to compete in the 2017 Nationals, giving them a year of competing together before the make-it-or-break-it 2018 competition that would decide which athletes got to go to the Olympics. With a timeline firmly in place, Isabelle then proposed a change to how they were training. She wanted Blaine to get fully up-to-speed in his skating by January of the next year, so that he and Kurt would then have a full year of practicing together before their first Nationals.

Blaine had come a long way, but he needed to make his skating seamless and to learn the two triple jumps that he would need for competition. To accomplish that, he would need to spend an extra day a week with his private coach, leaving just two days a week to work with Kurt.

Since Kurt needed to keep his own skills in competition shape, Isabelle suggested that they bring in another training partner for him. This would also allow them to begin choreographing a competition routine. The partner didn't have to have skating chemistry with Kurt or have to be eligible to skate for the U.S. team, so finding someone wouldn't be hard.

Kurt, who was well aware that his finances had taken a hit after losing some of his sponsors, put off agreeing to the plan until he was able to check his bank account and do some number crunching. He looked at the balance on his savings account and decided that with a few extra Blackbird commissions and a little belt tightening he could make it work. He and Isabelle put out feelers and within a week they had hired Chen Zing, a skater originally from China who had recently moved to the States. Chen wasn't good enough to be a top skater in his country and didn't really have the fighting spirit needed for competition, but he served Kurt's purpose. Plus, he barely spoke any English beyond skating terms, so he wasn't offended when Kurt was, well, his usual colorful self.

Chen had his wife and young child with him, so every day he left immediately after practice to be with them, leaving Kurt alone to do some additional practicing on his own. On those days Kurt usually only caught sight of Blaine from a distance as he left the smaller practice rink with Artie or some other friend, a casual wave tossed in Kurt's direction as they went off to a club or bar or who-knows-where.

The months rushed by and Kurt and Blaine settled into a comfortable pattern. They made small talk during their twice weekly practices and shared funny stories, but always said their goodbyes at the door and never saw each other outside of the rink. Kurt cut down on the sarcastic remarks and Blaine did his best not to antagonize Kurt on purpose.

Of course it wasn't all smooth sailing.

In early May, Kurt began to notice some changes going on at the rink. At first it was relatively small things, like a new space heater appearing in the bleachers or new foam on the floor in the room that they used to train for lifts and jumps. While April provided him with the use of the building for free, it had always been up to Kurt to pay for any figure skating specific upgrades. He should have found it suspicious, but for some reason he just shrugged it off and told himself that April was being even more generous than usual as he warmed his hands by the new heater and enjoyed the softness of the new foam when he fell.

It wasn't until a sports medicine quality Jacuzzi appeared in the locker room that he was forced to face the fact that April wasn't responsible. The next day, his suspicions were proven correct when he returned early from a lunchtime appointment to find Blaine standing at the far end of the rink with two men, describing the comfy reading area he wanted installed in an alcove. Excitement shown on Blaine's face as he described the overstuffed chairs and book shelves he wanted, but his expression froze when he saw Kurt standing in the doorway. He excused himself with a guilty flush and made his way over to Kurt.

"Kurt, you're early. I-I wasn't expecting you back until—"

"What are you doing?" Kurt cut him off with a scowl. "Has it been you the whole time? The heater, the foam, the Jacuzzi?"

Blaine avoided his gaze, suddenly finding the floor beneath his feet endlessly fascinating. "Um…yeah…I just —"

"Well, I'm sorry if our humble offerings don't live up to what you were used to in the HNL…"

"NHL."

Kurt glared icily at the interruption. "…but you're just going to have to get used to roughing it alongside us peasants."

"I just saw that some things were wearing out around here and I know that hiring a training partner is expensive so —"

"I work hard for what I have, Blaine and I don't need your charity. I am more than capable of taking care of whatever is needed around here, so please just stay out of it." Kurt spun on his heel and began to walk away.

Blaine reached out and touched Kurt's arm lightly, bringing him to a stop. "Please, wait. This isn't charity, I swear. I've just been feeling really guilty lately. You took such a risk on me and I know that it's ended up costing you more than you expected. I just…I just want to do my part and pull my own weight and since I can't do that right now with my skating and I decided I had to do it with my money. Besides, it's because of me that any of that stuff is needed anyways. I'm spending so much time on my butt in the practice room that I needed to get that extra padding in there if I ever wanted to walk again. And the Jacuzzi, well, these muscles aren't used to skating you know. I ache like an old man."

Kurt could feel his indignation melting away under Blaine's earnest argument. "And what about the reading nook?" he waved his hand towards the far wall

Blaine blushed and batted his absurdly long eyelashes at him. "I just thought it'd be nice to have a snug little spot to sit and read in while the Zamboni is doing its thing. OK, so that's for both of us. Come on, don't be mad. Please?"

Though a small voice in the back of his mind still protested that it was charity, Kurt decided to give in semi-gracefully. His butt did get awfully stiff and cold sitting on the bleachers waiting for the ice to be resurfaced.

That day marked a small turn-around in his and Blaine's relationship. The next day, just as they were leaving the rink, Blaine tossed off an invitation for coffee and Kurt surprised him by accepting. He got a lot of satisfaction from Blaine's dumbfounded expression. "What? I'm thirsty," he shrugged as he picked up his messenger bag.

They began meeting for coffee twice a week, sometimes after their joint practices and sometimes on the days when they trained separately. They started out only talking about skating, but as time went on the topics became a bit more personal. Kurt opened up a little, but still held something back. He found himself telling Blaine about how he only saw Adam one every couple of months because of the distance, but he kept to himself the fact that he didn't really mind the separation. He told funny stories about Santana and their years skating together, but never mentioned how some nights he just stared at the phone, wanting desperately for it to ring and for it to be his former friend on the other end. And he listened as Blaine told amusing stories from his weekend exploits and never once let on that the idea of Blaine in another man's arm bothered him much more than it should.

=^..^=

Blaine took a deep breath as he followed Kurt and Cooper through the doors of Nationwide Arena and held his ticket out to be scanned. They were in Columbus to see his old team, the Vancouver Canucks, play the Columbus Blue Jackets in one of the first games of the regular season. He'd known that it really wasn't Kurt's thing when he'd given him the ticket for his birthday, but they'd become a lot friendlier lately, so he'd taken the chance. Kurt had made a few caustic comments about the joys of spending several hours in the company of beer swigging sports fanatics, but in the end he'd accepted the invitation. His only stipulation was that he refused to do The Wave.

Blaine was practically vibrating with excitement as they passed through the crowd at the entrance into the main hall of the arena. He hadn't been to see a NHL game in person in almost a year and he could already feel the anticipation of the puck drop coursing through his veins. He paused to buy several tickets for the 50/50 raffle and then he and Cooper walked on either side of Kurt as they made their way towards the aisle where their seats were located.

Though Blaine knew there was nothing to worry about, he supposed that they were unconsciously acting as a barrier between Kurt and the teaming jersey clad hoards. He knew that Kurt wasn't a big fan of crowds, especially one so testosterone fueled. A lifetime spent being exposed to local thug hockey players had left a definite mark on his psyche. He could tell that Kurt was feeling out of his element, since he'd never witnessed him so reserved and quiet. It almost made him want to do something that was so annoying that Kurt wouldn't be able to tamp down his snarky response. Almost.

Blaine had almost gaped in surprise earlier in the day when he'd answered his door to find Kurt dressed in sedate jeans and a loose fitting sweatshirt. He hadn't even known Kurt owned such casual items. Kurt had noted his surprise and mournfully lamented the fact that he was appearing in public in clothes that he normally would never consider wearing outside of the comforts of his own house.

They'd piled into the car quickly, Blaine and Cooper squabbling over who got to ride shotgun as Kurt just shook his head in dismay at their actions. It was only Kurt's second time meeting Cooper and Blaine was happy to see that Kurt's famous person crush seemed to be turning into an exasperated fondness. Humble wasn't exactly a word that applied to the elder Anderson brother and having anyone in the vicinity who fangirled (or fanboyed, as the case may be) over him sent his ego soaring to new heights. Cooper would have been intolerable if Kurt had kept sending him the awed glances of their first meeting.

"I don't want to perpetuate a stereotype or anything, but I assume you're not a big sports fan, Kurt? Other than figure skating, of course," Cooper laughed when Kurt pulled up short with a look of distaste on his face in order to avoid being run into by a pair of twenty-something guys who seemed to have gotten a head start on their drinking.

"My dad dragged me to a few football games when I was younger before he finally gave up in despair. He said he didn't want to try and force me into being something that I wasn't, but I think he just got tired of the side-eyeing he got from the people around us when I pulled out the latest issue of Vogue about 5 minutes into the game." Blaine tilted his head to the side and eyed Kurt's pockets. "No, I didn't bring anything with me tonight. You're just lucky I've already read this month's issue."

As they passed several stalls selling all manner of heart attack inducing plates of grease and fat, Blaine and Cooper began to debate what they were going to buy for dinner. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine could see the expression of horror on Kurt's face grow as the list of potential purchases grew from beer, nachos, pizza, and garlic fries to include deep fried Twinkies, ice cream cookie sandwiches, and popcorn. Kurt reached up and delicately touched his face, as if fearful that the grease just hanging in the air had already affected his pores.

They got into line at the next stand and Kurt squeezed his eyes shut as he told Cooper to go ahead and order for him as well. Cooper whooped at the unexpected power and turned to the girl behind the counter with a broad grin. Within minutes Kurt's arms were filled with a burger, fries, beer, and popcorn and Blaine bit back a smile at his dazed expression as they made their way to their seats, which were located directly behind the Canucks' bench.

"So, Kurt," Cooper asked as he peeled back the wrapper on his burger, "what do you love most about skating? What fuels the fire, what steers the ship that is Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine slipped his beer into the cup holder beside him, only looking up when it became evident that no answer was forthcoming. He looked over to find Kurt frozen in the middle of dipping a French fry in ketchup.

"I-I…I'm not sure…" Kurt stumbled over his response, then ground to a halt again.

"Oops," Cooper gasped dramatically as he waved a hand back-and-forth across Kurt's blank face. "I think I broke him. Sorry, I didn't think that was going to be such a toughie. OK, new subject." He glanced up towards the ceiling for a second before shooting a sly look in Blaine's direction. "Just how much tail can Blaine expect to get from being a skater? I mean, I don't know how it could possibly equal the levels of action he got out of the hockey puck bunnies —who would have imagined that there would be so many men-seeking-men hockey fans out there, huh? —but figure skating seems like it's more geared to your guys', shall we say, target audience."

"Cooper, you do know how creepy and wrong it is for you to be so interested in my sex life, right?" Blaine helped himself to one of Cooper's onion rings, ignoring his bleat of protest at the theft.

"Hey, I'm just looking out for my baby brother. Groupies are one of the perks of being a famous and you shouldn't miss out just because the ladies aren't your thing. Right, Kurt?" Cooper jabbed an elbow in Kurt's direction, a looking for some support.

Blaine groaned and swiped another onion ring, while Kurt just stammered something that sound like a half-hearted agreement.

Cooper must have gotten the hint that neither Kurt nor Blaine wanted to pursue that topic, since he huffed deeply and tried again. "Fine. Boring talk only. So Kurt, is the Olympics the end of the road? I mean, as an actor I know that the roles of the mentor, the wise sage, and the crotchety old man with a heart of gold await me when my days as the stunning leading man are over, but what does the future hold for figure skaters?"

Kurt delicately nibbled on a fry as he considered Cooper's question. "Skating careers definitely aren't long lived. There's only so long that the body can withstand the impact of the jumps and there seems to be an unending line of new skaters who are able to do things that everyone thought was impossible just the year before. I heard that this year there are two single skaters who are going to try a quintuple jump. Skating now is more about the jumps and big elements than about the artistry, so careers are getting shorter all the time."

"It takes a lot to skate at an Olympic level, so for most skaters it's a one-time trip. Usually those that stay around another four years were really young the first time around or feel like they need to make another run at it to be satisfied." Kurt lifted his hand to indicate that he was in that group. "There are some options for skaters after they retire from competition. There's quite the circuit of professional skating shows —"

"Ah squirt, you'd look sooo cute as that tea cup from _Beauty and the Beast_," Cooper cooed as he bumped his shoulder against Blaine's. "All the ladies will just want to pinch your cheeks. Both sets."

Kurt swallowed a laugh and played with the straw of his soda. "I see him more as a Prince Eric or an Aladdin, actually." Blaine grinned like a madman at the compliment and Kurt blushed a little when he saw his reaction. "There are a lot of those types of shows, but I was thinking more along the lines of _Stars on Ice_, where top skaters perform as themselves, not as costumed Disney characters. Of course, a lot of skaters go on to become choreographers or coaches as another way to stay in the sport. A lot just retire and move onto something else though. A normal life."

"So have you given any thoughts to what you want to do?" Blaine asked. "No offense, but I'm not sure I can picture you as a coach."

The comment caused Kurt to inhale air along with his sip of soda and he immediately started hiccupping. "Uh..hic…no. I think the whole…hic…world would agree with you on that one…hic."

"So what then? You'll want to stay in skating, right? Choreography?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes slightly and Blaine could tell he had struck a nerve. "We've still got…hic…two and a half years until the next Olympics, so I'm just going to focus on that for now, thank you."

Blaine wanted to push some more on the subject, but at that moment the skaters hit the ice for their pre-game warm-up. He and Cooper immediately began comparing the stats of some of the Canucks players, watching intently as they took their practice shots. When the warm-up was over, the Columbus mascot appeared in the stands to the delight of some of the younger people in the crowd.

"That's Stinger, the Blue Jacket's mascot," Blaine explained as they watched a seemingly 7 foot tall, green bug dance his way up a set of steps. "It's too bad we're not in Vancouver. The Canucks' mascot is so much better." Kurt looked at him skeptically. "Seriously, Fin's the best."

"Finn?"

"Fin, the orca whale." Blaine pulled out his phone and flipped through a couple of screens before passing it to Kurt.

Kurt looked down at the photo of a laughing Blaine with his head half in the open, toothy mouth of a tall, furry orca whale. "Santana would approve of the name. I'll have to send her…" He stopped suddenly and handed Blaine back his phone.

"Who's Santana?" Cooper wondered as he crumpled up his food wrappers and dropped them at his feet.

"My old partner," Kurt replied nonchalantly. "Her new partner's name is 'Finn' and she's always making these horrible comments about his weight, so…"

Blaine took pity on him and suggested that they make another food run before the game got going. Kurt shook his head and held up his still only half eaten hamburger. He waved them off to do their foraging, saying that he was happy to sit and crowd watch.

They returned just before the teams were introduced and Blaine yelled loudly as his former teammates took the ice. As they piled into the bench, several players spotted him and rushed over to the glass just before the buzzer sounded, extracting a promise from him to visit them after the game. Blaine sat down and leaned forward in his seat, his pulse pounding as the game began.

=^..^=

The game went by surprisingly fast. Kurt didn't understand what was going on half the time and spent most of the first period mentally creating new outfits for both the players and the officials, but he had to admit that he got caught up in the excitement of the crowd each time a goal was scored. He and Cooper had even taken to cheering even louder when Columbus scored, just to make Blaine mad.

During the first break between periods, they scrambled for free t-shirts that were bring dropped from a remote-controlled blimp and cheered on the race car of their choosing on the jumbo screen that hovered over the middle of the ice as the Zamboni did its job. Kurt might have gloated a bit when the car he was rooting for won.

When play resumed, the mood on the ice shifted and there seemed to be more time spent fighting and posturing than actually playing the game. Kurt wasn't ever one for violence and found that he had to look away during a particularly bad fight that ended in a split lip and blood being spilled. He could tell from Blaine's expression that it was nothing to worry about, but it was still hard to watch.

The more he saw of the game, the harder it became to imagine Blaine out there, fighting and clawing his way forward, all attention focused on getting a little disc of rubber into a net. The Blaine he knew was an entertainer, an often times gregarious showman who glowed as if lit up from inside. It was difficult to reconcile that image with the sweaty, grunting men out on the ice. He wondered if Blaine was just one of those people with the ability to fit in where ever he was or if he'd been forcing himself into a role in order to please others. He'd mentioned how playing hockey had been one of the few things he could talk to his father about. Had he molded himself into something that he wasn't in order to maintain that bond? Or maybe it was the Blaine he knew that was forced. After all, figure skating wasn't something he'd come to on his own. Maybe it was simply a means to an end; the only way he could partially fulfill the Olympic dreams he'd spent his whole life dreaming.

Kurt knew all about pushing on to achieve a dream that seemed out of reach.

When the buzzer blew indicating the end of the second period, a few fans approached Blaine looking for an autograph. It'd been a year and a half since his career ended, but he'd been a popular player and people still remembered him. Word seemed to spread and soon Blaine was surrounded by twenty or so people. He laughed and joked with the fans, joined by Cooper, who told some funny anecdotes and signed some autographs himself. Blaine looked so happy that Kurt felt a pang of sorrow for his loss. This must have been what his whole life had been like before Sochi — the roar of the crowd, the support of his teammates, the adoration of the fans.

Kurt hunched down a little in his seat. He knew he was unlikely to be recognized in such a crowd, but he didn't feel like taking the risk. He envied the ease with which Blaine handled his fame. Kurt himself had always felt awkward when approached by fans. He never knew what to say and usually tried to get away as quickly as possible, afraid that he would do or say something stupid and get yet another negative video about him uploaded onto youtube.

The fans dispersed as the third period began. The game was tight and both teams seemed determined to be the next to score. Then, with only minutes left on the clock, one of the Canucks players took a vicious hit that sent him careening across the ice on his back. The referees made some kind of motion and one of the Columbus players skated over to the penalty box as the crowd booed, but Kurt only had eyes for Blaine. He'd seen the recording of the hit that had ended Blaine's career and the scene before him looked eerily similar.

Blaine was leaning forward with an intent look on his face, his entire being focused on the player who was still lying still on the ice. As people ran out to check on him, Kurt reached out tentatively and took Blaine's hand in his. He was unsure of how such a gesture would be received, so he was relieved when Blaine squeezed his hand tightly and pulled it in towards his chest. They watched in silence as the player was evaluated and cheered along with everyone else when he was helped to his feet. He gave the crowd a wave to indicate that he was ok and Kurt felt the tension dissolve out of Blaine's body. Their hands remained clasped together tightly, though, and it wasn't until at least a minute later than Blaine seemed to realize it. He let go with a smile and silently mouthed a 'thank you'.

The Canucks won the game and Kurt soon found himself standing at the security check-point that led to the locker areas. Someone must have put Blaine's name on the list, because they were ushered inside without delay. Kurt quickly averted his eyes as soon as they entered the locker room, the lessons learned from his short time in public high school still etched into his brain. Men in locker rooms did not usually appreciate having a gay guy around.

There was a loud commotion as Blaine's former teammates welcomed him with open arms. There were chest bumps and ass slaps and general macho rituals that were foreign to Kurt despite his years of competition. Figure skating just wasn't a chest bumping sort of sport.

Because he was hanging back, trying to keep out of the way, Kurt noticed a few players who remained at their lockers instead of approaching Blaine. He definitely saw some dirty looks and snickers from them, so he turned his back, determined to not let them ruin the evening.

=^..^=

Blaine cheered along with his friends when a new round of beers was delivered by one of the waitresses covering the VIP section of the local sports bar that the Canucks had retired to after the game. He'd half-heartedly declined their initial invitation to join them, knowing that Kurt probably wouldn't be into it at all and worrying that Cooper would be too into it, but Kurt had pulled him aside and convinced him that he should take the opportunity to spend more time with his old friends.

He looked around for Kurt and found him perched on a round swivel stool at the bar, sipping a soda due to his role as designated driver. Cooper was sitting next to him, flirting madly with a nearby waitress. Blaine had tried a few times to get Kurt to join in with the group, but he'd just gently pushed him away and told him to go have fun.

Finally, about an hour later, things wound down and Blaine said his goodbyes before they headed back towards the car.

"Kurt, you should have joined us." Blaine put his hands on the top of a sign and lifted himself up in the air with a kick of his feet. "The guys wanted to talk to you, hear all about our skating."

"Maybe _some_ of them did," Kurt muttered as he searched his pockets for the keys.

Blaine turned to look at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Kurt shook his head and finally located the missing keys in his jacket pocket. "Never mind."

"No, tell me."

"It's nothing. Just one of the guys made it obvious that he didn't want 'my kind' there. No big deal."

Blaine stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot. "What? Who? What did he say?"

"Nothing I haven't heard a thousand times before. Let's go." Kurt sighed heavily and put his hand on Blaine's back to try and nudge him on.

"No, we have to go back. We can't let him get away with —"

The lid Kurt was keeping on his emotions slipped a little. "Blaine, I know you've lived in a nice, safe, little fairy tale your whole life, but I've lived in the real world. I couldn't exactly hide who I am and with being a figure skater on top of that? I might as well have painted a target on my back. You don't know what it's been like, so just drop it."

A hollowness spread throughout Blaine's chest. "Not my whole life," he said so quietly that Kurt turned towards him with a questioning look.

"What?"

Blaine took a deep breath and leaned against the side of the car. "The guy that checked me? That ended my career? He did it on purpose. He evidently didn't like the idea of a gay guy playing the manly sport of hockey and had told his teammates that he was going to go after me to 'teach me a lesson'. The Olympic committee found out during their investigation, but they wanted to keep it quiet and I'll admit that I didn't want to become the nation's poster boy for gay bashing in sports, so I went along with it."

Cooper came up beside him and slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a quick hug. His movement was casual, but Blaine could feel his lingering anger at the situation just beneath the surface.

Kurt's eyes turned soft in sympathy. "Blaine, I-I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I know. And I didn't tell you to make you feel bad or to make you feel sorry for me. I just…I wanted you to know that you aren't alone. That I understand."

Kurt held out his hand tentatively and Blaine reached out to grab it, knowing what it cost him to make such a gesture. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I really wish you didn't."

Blaine wished he didn't either.


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine had just finished performing one of the programs that his private coach, Henrik, had taught him when he heard applause coming from over his shoulder. He turned to find Isabelle and Kurt in the shadows at the far end of the room, giving him a standing ovation. They'd seen him skate parts of the program innumerable times, but it was first time they'd seen the whole thing put together and skated cleanly.

"You're triple axel is amazing, Blaine!" Isabelle exclaimed as she ran up and grabbed his hand. "I can't believe how quickly you've gotten a handle it. We're going to blow the other skaters out of the water at Regionals. They won't know what hit them."

Blaine basked in the compliment, wanting to roll around in it like a puppy in clothes fresh from the dryer. He knew there was still a lot of room for improvement, but he also knew that he'd picked things up much faster than anyone had expected and he was proud of how far he'd come. "Kurt and I are supposed to begin training together full-time next month. Do you think we're still on track, or…?"

Isabelle grinned and looked over at Kurt, who smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders. "I'd say we're ahead of schedule, actually. How would you feel about moving things up a bit? Say to next week?"

Blaine stared at her in disbelief. "Next week? You really think I'm ready?"

"I do. And having an extra month for pairs training will be good, because the programs we've come up with are not easy by anyone's standards." Isabelle patted his hand and stepped away. "I'm going to go work on the details with Henrik."

Blaine shook his head as he watched her go. "Are you sure about this, Kurt? You two aren't just saying this to make me feel good about myself?"

Kurt snorted and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Right, 'cause I'm the altruistic sort who always does things solely to make others feel good about themselves. You're ready. It's as simple as that." He gave Blaine a parting nod and headed for the door.

Blaine pushed back and performed a quick, joyful scratch spin, barely able to contain his little yell of excitement.

"You'd better get your rest this weekend," Kurt called from the doorway. "Because now is when the hard part begins."

=^..^=

Kurt hadn't been exaggerating.

Blaine had been skating almost daily for over a year and a half, but nothing had prepared him for the death march that was the preparation for competition. Chen stayed on for the first week to help teach him the choreography for the short program, which included a list of elements that they would be required to successfully perform, including the two triple jumps he'd been working so hard on.

When he'd first sat down in the bleachers on the first day of official pairs training to watch Kurt and Chen run through both the short and long programs, Blaine had been a little worried that they might have watered things down and kept the elements simple in order to make things easier for him. It took him only a few minutes to realize that the exact opposite was true. The long program had twice as many triple jumps as he was expecting and complicated lifts that he hadn't seen before in any of the videos he'd watched. The footwork sequence halfway through was so intricate and fast that he could barely see Kurt's feet moving. How was he going to learn all this in the nine months before their first competition?

They began skating six days a week, spending over eight hours a day at the rink. Isabelle kept telling him that the first part was the hardest, that learning the choreography as well as wrapping his mind around the new elements was going to take some time, and that one day it would all just click, but he wasn't sure he really believed her.

Kurt was surprisingly patient, though Blaine knew that it must be frustrating for him to have to slow things down in order to give Blaine time to catch on. He'd caught Kurt rolling his eyes a few times and heard a few soft huffs of impatience when it took him longer than usual to get the hang of something, but he'd long ago started to find all of his irritation charming. All part of the Kurt Hummel experience.

Blaine fell into bed each night, almost asleep before his head hit the pillow. His body ached from the tips of his little toes to the ends of his eyelashes and all fibers in between. But even beyond that, his _brain_ was tired. Trying to memorize each push of his skate, each flick of his wrist, each hand hold, and footwork sequence was threatening to push out some of the thousands of song lyrics he'd spent his high school years learning by heart. He'd always joked that if he remembered actual useful information instead of song lyrics he'd be smart enough to rival one of those so-smart-they-can't-be-anything-but-evil villains in a comic book — he'd always imagined that his secret identity would be "Nightbird" — but the other day he'd been unable to recall the lyrics to _Manic Monday_ and he'd almost wept. First hockey, now song lyrics? Was everything he loved to be taken from him?

OK, so maybe he got a little melodramatic when he was tired.

He wasn't overstating how exhausted he was, though. He'd realized the day before that it had been months since he'd been out with Artie or any other of his friends. He went from his apartment to the rink and back and that was about it. He was beginning to feel like a hermit. An abstinent, exhausted, song lyric-less hermit.

=^..^=

The days were zooming by faster than Kurt could ever remember. It seemed like the last time he'd been able to take a breath it had been November and now it was mid-February. Only 7 months to go before their first competition at Regionals and he could already feel the dread building up in the pit of his stomach. They'd be ready, he didn't really have any doubts about that, but it had been too long since he'd been out on the ice under the harsh glare of the judge's eyes and he was apprehensive.

He and Blaine had spent the last two months working on their short program, drilling on the required elements and choreography until Blaine could do the routine in his sleep, both backwards and forwards. It was finally at the point where they were all happy with it and it was now time to begin work on the long program.

Kurt had been dreading the switch, not because of the physical demands — which were great — but because mentally he wasn't sure if he was prepared. Despite his protests, Isabelle had pushed for a romantic theme to the program, saying that he and Blaine had the chemistry to make it work. It was basically four minutes and thirty seconds of intimate lifts, deep eye contact, and skating so close that they almost seemed like one body. Needless to say, it wasn't in Kurt's comfort zone. His programs with Chandler had always been athletic and theatrical, using the costumes and music to create a little play for the audience. They'd been conquering Vikings, elegant country gentlemen engaged in a duel, and cat burglars making their next big score, but never lovers. The program Isabelle had pushed for with Blaine was all raw, deep emotion. Without his theatrics to hide behind, Kurt felt terrified. Exposed.

In the week leading up to their first long program practice, he kept having a reoccurring dream where he skated out on the ice for their first competition only to discover that he was naked. The lack of sleep was starting to get to him.

The first training sessions went better than expected, though. They did simple lifts as placeholders for the more difficult elements that they would work on later and concentrated on learning the rhythm and flow of the piece. The trouble came weeks later when Blaine got comfortable enough with the program to start adding _performance_ to it. The first time he gathered Kurt into his arms during the slow interlude section of the music and looked at him with heart eyes that could probably been seen from space, Kurt nearly melted into the floor and completely forgot the choreography.

"Could you not do that?" he snapped as they finished up a run-through and skated off to center ice to begin again.

"What?"

"Look at me like you're Pepé Le Pew and I'm Penelope."

"But Kurt, we're supposed to be in loooove!" Blaine put on a French accent, batted his eyes, and swept Kurt over his arm into a dip.

Kurt slapped at Blaine's arm with his free hand until he was lifted up. "Well, stop it. It's distracting." Blaine looked surprised. "To you! Distracting to you. You should be concentrating on the moves. We'll add the performance in later."

Blaine gave him a sunny smile and took his place for the beginning of the program. "Don't worry. It's not distracting for me. The performance part just comes naturally. It'd be harder to not do it at this point."

Kurt grimaced and took his own position. He was in trouble.

Kurt knew that an attraction to Blaine had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but he was nothing if not good at ignoring the things he didn't want to deal with. But being held by Blaine, looking deep into his eyes and twirling in his arms as they glided across the ice, feeling Blaine's legs entwine around his waist during the one lift they had perfected — it was all too much, even for his advanced suppression skills. He was on edge and his lack of control irritated him. The cracks were starting to show.

One of the cracks burst open one day in March when, at the end of practice, Isabelle announced that they were going to have four days off from practice the next week.

Kurt could count the number of unexpected days off he'd had while training on one hand. Something was up. "Why? We're almost done locking down the choreography."

"Blaine's asked for some time off and you guys have been working so hard that I think this is the perfect time to take a little break," Isabelle said brightly.

Kurt turned to Blaine, hands on hips. "Why do you need time off? Is the schedule getting to you?" he asked, cringing inside at the accusation in his voice.

"No, it's just that a good friend from the Canucks is getting married in Las Vegas, so I'm heading out for the bachelor party and the ceremony."

Kurt stared at him, dumbfounded. "A four day bachelor party and wedding?"

"Yeah, these guys are kind of wild, so they made sure to schedule a recovery day between the party and the actual wedding. God, it's been so long since I've been out I might have forgotten how it's done. You should see the list of clubs we're going to. I actually kind of had a dream last night that I was in _The Hangover_. It's probably not far off—"

"A bachelor party?" Kurt voice rose to an embarrassing pitch. "I broke my finger last year and I got _one_ day off. My dad got re-elected to Congress and I got _one_ day off to attend the swearing in. I skate on birthdays and anniversaries and Christmas. No matter what's going on in the world, I skate. Then, now when we have less than 6 months to get two brand new programs off the ground, you go and give him four days off so that he can go get his dick sucked in a bar by a random in Las Vegas?"

Kurt's outrage bounced off the walls, the last word echoing around them. He clasped a hand to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the fallout to come.

The sound of chuckling caught him off guard. Then, the chuckle became a full-fledged belly laugh.

"That was epic, Kurt," Blaine gasped out as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "I've never heard the words 'dick sucked' uttered at such a…high frequency. I just…" He paused as his laughter overwhelmed him again. "Please don't be offended, but… There was a guy in my high school who used to get really upset and he'd talk so fast and high pitched that we used to call it 'Beaker rage'. You know, after that lab assistant Muppet who only said 'Mee-mee-mee mee?'" Blaine raised his voice to a squeak as he mimicked the character's voice. "That, my friend, was Beaker rage if I've ever heard it. In fact, I may just call you 'Beaker' from now on."

Kurt narrowed his eyes, distracted from his momentary anger and current embarrassment by Blaine comparing him to an inarticulate puppet with, if he remembered correctly, shockingly bad hair and bug eyes. "My hair's high, but not that high, thank you very much." he grumbled.

"I've personally always seen you as more of an Oscar the Grouch type," Isabelle giggled through the fingers she'd raised to her lips at the beginning of his tirade.

"Oh my god, it just gets worse." Kurt let his lead drop back on his shoulders and searched the heavens for the reason why he'd been saddled with two such annoyingly good natured people. "I refuse to be anything but insulted at being compared to a character whose defining trait is that he loves trash. I personally see myself as one of the old guys from the balcony, forever doomed to be tortured by those of lesser talent who won't leave the stage, just waiting for the day when the giant hook comes out from stage left and pulls them away."

The conversation continued as they laughingly tried to find Muppet characters for Blaine and Isabelle and ended with Blaine threatening to bring in a playlist of Muppet songs for their next practice. Kurt's good humor was restored, though he knew deep down inside that he was still bothered by the upcoming time off. He told himself it was only because of missed training and nothing else.

Blaine caught his distracted look and reached over to rub a hand gently up and down his back. "We'll be able to pick off where we left off when I get back, Kurt. Trust me. We'll be fine."

Kurt nodded and then dropped behind him as they entered the locker room. Blaine had just unknowingly touched on the root of all their problems. Kurt didn't trust anyone. Not really.

When Blaine returned, he seemed much more relaxed. Kurt refused to dwell too long on the reasons why that might be.

=^..^=

Training resumed and before long they had both programs locked. They would spend the next three months tightening and perfecting before their first competition.

"Watcha reading?" Blaine plopped himself down on one of the comfy chairs in the reading nook (a wonderful purchase, if he did say so himself) and looked over at Kurt, who was curled up in chair, his head leaning against the overstuffed back, a tablet computer on his lap.

"Just looking at some costume options for the long program," Kurt answered absently as he swiped a finger across the screen. "I've got to select designs this week in order to get the finished products in time for Regionals."

"Oh! Can I help?"

Kurt finally glanced up, blinking owlishly as his eyes refocused. "Really, Blaine? This doesn't seem like your area."

"Of course! I want to help with everything." Kurt looked mutinous for a second and Blaine could swear he saw him physically bite his tongue to prevent whatever smart-aleck retort his brain had prepared from leaving his mouth. "Come on. Share your toys."

Kurt gave a long suffering sigh. "All right."

The chair Kurt was sitting on was really almost a loveseat, so Blaine made a little scooting motion, asking him to slide over to make room. He settled into the cushions, his right side plastered tight to Kurt's left, and reached out a hand to steady the tablet between them.

"Oh, I like that one!" he noted, pointing to a simple, classic bodysuit in black with buttons running down in two lines on the front, mimicking a military-style coat.

"I'm all for retro when the occasion calls for it, but that's a little too '1992 Battle of the Brians' for me." Kurt sighed again at Blaine's confused look. "If you're going to be a figure skater you simply must know about Brian Boitano and Brian Orser at the Calgary Olympics. Research it before our next practice. I'll expect a full color commentary and possibly an ode to Boitano's ass. Don't worry, you'll thank me."

"Yes, sir." Blaine gave him a mocking salute and turned his attention back to the screen. "If you don't like my suggestion, what are you leaning towards?"

"Well…" Kurt looked excited, which should have been warning. "I was thinking this one. Plaid is really in on this year's runway. It's très chic."

Blaine stared at the costume in question, not sure he fully comprehended what he was seeing. "It's brown. Brown _plaid_. And what's that…stuff across the front? I don't understand."

"It's avant guard, Blaine. You're not supposed to understand," Kurt sniffed.

"It looks like an old Scottish guy got tagged with graffiti."

Kurt glared at him. "It's based on a Walter Van Beirendonck design."

Blaine glared right back. "It's crap."

They argued like that for half an hour, unable to come to agreement, and things started to get a little heated, but in a good way. Blaine began to feel a bit turned on.

"Come on, Kurt. I know you want to be cutting edge, but it's going to be hard enough being the new kid on the block. Please don't make me wear something I won't be comfortable in."

Kurt's eyes softened. "Fine. I guess we can compromise."

"How about getting Blackbird to design them?" Blaine asked, remembering how much he'd liked the costumes he'd seen from the mysterious designer.

Kurt choked on his own spit and bent forward in a coughing fit. "No, um…too late. The wait list for Blackbird is too long. We'd never get in on time. I say we go with these." He pointed to a set of costumes that were meant to look like street clothes. Kurt's costume consisted of distressed jeans, dress shirt, vest, and tie, while the costume meant for Blaine included red pants, black shirt, and a red bow tie.

"Really?" Blaine asked skeptically. "10 minutes ago you hated them for being pedestrian and unimaginative."

"No, you were right. We should go with something simple to let the skating shine through. Plus, I think these really compliment the music and the mood we're going for. I hate to admit it…" Kurt turned his head to look at Blaine, who had just moved forward to look closer at the photos, and their faces came in very close together. Kurt blinked, but didn't pull back. "..b-but…you're really good at this."

The air grew thicker and the rest of the room faded out of focus as Blaine stared at Kurt, mesmerized by the colors playing in his eyes. He felt himself sway forward, unable to stop himself from wanting to feel the press of their lips together. He pulled a breath in through his parted lips and —

"Well, I must admit the last thing I expected to see when I walked in here was a proper library set-up."

The words, spoken with a British accent that Blaine would have found charming under in any circumstances, caused Kurt to leap back and press himself against the opposite arm of the chair.

"Adam! What…what are you doing here?" Kurt jumped up and ran over to his boyfriend, kissing him on the cheek.

"Unexpected changes to my travel itinerary left me with an extra day in Columbus, so I thought I'd pop over and see you," Adam said as he returned Kurt's kiss. "Should I have called first? I wanted it to be a surprise, but I don't wish to interrupt your training."

Kurt was shaking his head before Adam finished speaking. "No, it's fine. I'm glad you came. Blaine and I were just making the final decision on costumes for the competition season."

Kurt beckoned Blaine forward and made introductions. Adam was handsome, if slightly older looking than his reported 26 years, and had a sincere smile that Blaine liked. He could see why he and Kurt would make a good couple. They talked for a bit before Blaine suggested that they end practice early that day to allow Adam and Kurt some more time together. Kurt smiled his agreement and threaded his arm through Adam's as he pulled him towards the locker room, already chattering about a new restaurant he wanted to try out.

Blaine slowly started to gather his things up, doing his best to delay his entry into the locker room until after Kurt and Adam left. Right. Kurt had a boyfriend. He was completely off-limits and Blaine would be smart to remember that.


	10. Chapter 10

Blaine and Kurt made it through Regionals and Sectionals, finishing just high enough each time to advance to the next level of competition. Suddenly, Nationals were upon them and Blaine found himself caught up in a whirlwind. The story of the temperamental diva skater and his ex-hockey player partner had been simmering for a while, but Nationals was where it really boiled over. The seemingly endless stream of interviews seemed to be broken up only by the short periods of time that they spent on the ice. By the end of the competition, Blaine was so sick of hearing himself speak that he wanted to scream.

Despite the distractions, he and Kurt had managed to finish eighth in the competition, well ahead of their goal. The reception from the media had been mostly positive, though not all the critics had been in love with their performance. Some members of the press picked apart Blaine's skills and found him wanting in a few areas, some even speculating that his performance was just smoke and mirrors aided by great choreography and an experienced partner. It was on the artistic side, though, that most of the criticism came. The words "tentative" and "slightly disconnected" were bandied about in several articles. Many writers put the blame for their lack of chemistry on Kurt's shoulders, saying that he appeared stiffer than in previous competitions, wondering if the emotion needed to bring the program to life was beyond the capabilities of a skater who'd always seemed so guarded and contained.

Blaine scanned a few of the articles and then vowed to read no more. They had one year to improve enough to finish in the top two in the 2018 championships and be guaranteed a spot in the Olympics and getting his confidence battered by reviews wouldn't help.

Isabelle had given them three days off after Nationals, telling them to rest up because they would begin working on choreography for their next programs as soon as they returned. Blaine went to visit Cooper and spent the whole first day sleeping, determined to be at full strength when he returned to Lima.

Nothing was going to stop him from making his triumphant return to the Olympics. Nothing.

=^..^=

Kurt spent the first two days of his post-competition vacation at home, working his way through a list of requests for Blackbird designs. He selected the commissions he would work on over the next three months and sent the details off to Mercedes Jones, the woman who managed the business side of Blackbird, Inc. She would communicate with the clients and act as the face of the company in all the dealings with them while Kurt sketched.

He'd committed to doing seven pieces, which was a three more than usual. It was hard to find the time to do the initial sketching, let alone all the revisions that came from program changes and client requests. He wished that he had more time to dedicate to it all, but since his designs were still in such high demand he guessed that people were happy with the final products. He'd just have to knuckle down and be very disciplined about the work. After all, the additional funds would be needed this year.

By the third day of his holiday, he was so restless that he thought he might come out of his skin, so he grabbed up his gear bag and drove down to the rink, stopping only to pick up lunch at a local sandwich shop. He skated alone for a couple of hours, loosening up his joints and stretching out the kinks that had formed over two days spent on the couch.

Finally, his body reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything yet that day, so he slid into the bleachers and pulled out his lunch. He turned his tablet computer on as he ate and read some articles about Nationals, trying hard to ignore anything that looked like it might mention Blaine or himself. He found his resolve weakening, though, when he came across an interview with Sue Sylvester titled _The (Skating) World According to Sue_.

He fought with himself for a second, knowing that nothing good could come from reading the article, but the temptation proved to be too much. He clicked the link and began reading.

…_Perhaps nothing gets Sue Sylvester more riled up than a mention of her former skater, Kurt Hummel. Our interview was conducted the day after the Similar Pairs finals at the U.S. National Figure Skating Championship, where Hummel and new partner, ex-professional hockey player Blaine Anderson, finished a surprising eighth. Though not perfect, they impressed many with their complex and mature programs. Sue, however, has a different take._

"_That dog and pony show was an embarrassment to the sport and the nation. Anderson has no business competing at a national level. He hasn't earned it. Also, some of his skills sent up a red flag __—__ at least for me __—__ given how little time he's been skating. Now, I'm not saying that the rumors about him being injected with monkey hormones are correct, but I do have my doubts about how someone can reach even the mediocre level he has in just three years."_

"_And Kurt, well, he's a once-talented skater who choked when it came to the biggest performance of his life and now he's pathetically trying to recapture his glory days by trotting out a partner who doesn't have the skills, but can provide an interesting hook to reel in the viewers and, more importantly, the sponsors. This isn't about a love of competition or skating. Kurt hasn't loved skating a single day of his entire life. It's about ego and hubris. Sebastian and Chandler won that competition, but I challenge you to find a single article that devotes more space to them than to Kurt and his tamed hockey thug. They made a mockery of those athletes who dedicate their entire lives to the sport. This will not stand."_

_A quick check did, in fact, confirm that most articles written about the Men's Similar Pairs competition gave more inches to Hummel and Anderson than the winning pair of Smythe and Kiehl. Kiehl had no comment when approached for this article, but Smythe had this to say:_

"_I think gimmick acts like Hummel and Anderson will spell the downfall of U.S. Figure Skating by turning the sport into nothing better than those tacky ice shows at the local small town rink. Kurt is past his prime as a skater and the sooner he admits it, the better for everyone. There's nothing sadder than seeing someone you once admired not know when it's time to leave the party."_

Kurt finished reading the article and set the tablet aside with trembling fingers, his lunch long forgotten. How dare Sue bring Blaine into the personal vendetta she had against him. He was used to her vitriol, but for her to imply that Blaine was taking performance enhancing drugs? There was no "monkey hormone" rumor and she knew it. But there would be now. "Damn her," he ground out as he slammed his skate against the metal steps, taking satisfaction at the resulting clang.

"While I know there are untold things in this world that piss you off, I'm going to out on a limb and say your little temper tantrum is about Sue?"

Kurt looked up in shock, his eyes going straight to the figure leaning against the glass door leading to the lobby. "Santana?"

Santana straightened up and sauntered forward in the slinky way that had brought countless men to their knees. "Snowflake. How's your own personal version of _Ice Castles_ going? Have you gotten any action from your private dancer yet?"

"What? No. God… No, we're not... What are you doing here?"

"I was feeling kind of nostalgic after Nationals," Santana shrugged, her hair slipping off her shoulder at the movement. "Finn and I are taking a few days off before practice starts for Worlds, so I thought I'd stop by and spread some sunshine and love. You know, the usual."

Kurt watched as she came closer, eyeing her like a mouse would eye a passing owl. "Riiiight. When I think of you I always think of joy and good will. Congratulations by the way. It's been a while since we've had a repeat Mixed Pairs champion."

Santana settled down on the step just above him and leaned back on her elbows. "Yeah, well people had better be ready for a three-peat, 'cause there ain't no _way_ I'm letting anyone beat us in an Olympic year. There's this British pair that pisses me off just by breathing and if I don't get the chance to pound them into the ground someone is going to pay. I mean, just hearing the name 'Kitty' makes me want to scratch my face off like that guy eating the chicken wing in _Poltergiest_." Santana smirked at Kurt's uncomfortable squirm. "Sorry, I forgot. No horror movie references. Seriously, when are you going to grow out of that, Snowbell? After all, some of your outfits are more terrifying than most horror movies."

"Ah, there's some of that patented Santana Lopez sunshine," Kurt retorted, though there was no real heat behind his words. Santana smiled wickedly at him and for a second it felt like it had back when they were partners and it was just them against the world.

"I looked for you backstage after your competition," Santana noted absently, looking down at her fingernails as if contemplating the need for a manicure.

"You did?" Kurt couldn't keep the doubt and surprise from his voice.

"Yeah, I wanted to tell you that you were great out there — both of you — and that I was…proud." She grimaced a bit at the last as if the word felt strange in her mouth, which it probably did.

Kurt felt a warmth in his chest, but he knew that Santana, like himself, preferred not to let things get too sentimental, so he dipped his head back with a finger to one ear. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that? I didn't quite catch what you said."

Santana groaned and bumped his shoulder with her leg. "Don't make me repeat it, please. I already feel like I need to go steal candy from a baby or knock the heads off a bunch of flowers to bring my aura back into balance."

"Hey, at least you didn't say knock the heads off a bunch of babies. You must be mellowing."

Santana snorted in amusement and reached down to absently play with the numerous bracelets around her wrist. "I meant it, though. The thing I won't repeat. I just really wanted you to know that. I got home yesterday and put my medal in the case with the one from last year and I realized that all I wanted to do was share it with you and that the only reason I couldn't that was because I can't let things go. I know I've been horrible and that I've punished you since you left, but I'm so tired of being angry all the time. I miss you. Can we be friends again?"

"I'd like that. You know no one else really fully appreciates my bitchy comments. It'd be nice to have someone to be judgmental with again. I mean, did you see the costume that Rachel Berry was wearing? Oh my god…"

They stayed at the rink for a bit longer before heading over to Kurt's house, where he cooked dinner and they sat around with a bottle of wine. Swapping catty comments with Santana felt like home to him and he found himself laughing more than he had in the past six months.

Santana stayed the night in the guest bedroom and before leaving the next morning she promised to meet up with Kurt for regular Skype bitch sessions. Maybe having someone to vent to would keep the other people in their lives from having to deal with their sharp tongues.

Nah, probably not.

=^..^=

Night had fallen hours before, but the late hour went unnoticed by the two men glaring at each other over the coffee table in the Hummel living room. Isabelle lay on the couch, an arm thrown across her eyes to block out the light, seemingly no longer interested in the battle of wills taking place beside her. The fight was about perhaps the most important decision of their professional careers: the music for their long program for the upcoming season. Music was one of the key ingredients in any program — getting the audience behind you for your performance could mean the difference between standing on the podium and watching the medal ceremony from the sidelines — but it was even more important in an Olympic year. Blaine hadn't had a say in the previous year's music and he was determined to have his voice heard this time around, but both he and Kurt had strong opinions and neither was willing to back down.

Kurt argued that he had experience on his side. He knew what the judges wanted and what would strike an emotional chord with the crowd. He knew what worked. Traditional music would be the key to winning. Blaine maintained that a fresh perspective was what was needed. They were a new type of partnership and they needed to show that through their music. It was time to move away from the stuffy been-there-done-that standards and try something new.

The only thing Isabelle demanded was that the music fit the program she had planned. She still believed that building a program around a romantic theme was the key to them winning. They had the chemistry; they just need to let it shine through during competition.

Kurt first suggested the soundtrack to _Man of La Mancha_, to which Blaine made a snoring noise and dropped his head back on the couch as if suddenly asleep. Blaine then countered with _Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark_. He'd barely gotten the title out of his mouth before Kurt pelted him with a crumpled up ball of paper.

They batted ideas back-and-forth for over an hour and Blaine eventually found himself making some truly outrageous suggestions just to see Kurt's reaction. "What about _Rocky Horror_? Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me," he sang out dramatically as he stood up and mimed a spin, running his hands down his body as he turned.

Kurt flopped down on the carpet with a groan. "If I thought you were serious for even one second, I'd hop on a plane right now and go beg Chandler to come back."

Blaine heard a sputter from Isabelle and looked over to see her laughing from underneath the arm that still covered her face.

"Okay, so maybe that one was a bit too far. Look, why do we have to tie ourselves to a movie or Broadway soundtrack anyways?" Blaine began to pace around the room as an idea crystalized in his mind. "Why don't we create our own story? We could take songs from popular music and mash them together to make something that's uniquely us. Like, if we wanted to tell the story of one of us getting cheated on and then the other one trying to convince him to come back we could use _It's Not Right But It's Okay_ and _I Have Nothing_ from Whitney Houston. We could tell any story we wanted to."

Kurt had sat up part way through his speech and was now looking at him with an interested glint in his eye. "We can't use songs with lyrics, though, so we'd have to use instrumental versions. Wouldn't that lessen the impact?"

"Not if we choose the right songs. People will recognize them and be with us from the first few notes."

"We'd have to get the songs re-recorded by an orchestra in order to fill out the sound." Kurt pulled a pad of paper to him and began to jot down some notes.

Isabelle joined back in the conversation and they began to brainstorm storylines and songs that might fit, running the gamut from Frank Sinatra to Madonna. Finally, the ideas ran out and Blaine sat back with a satisfied sigh, looking down at the paper in front of him that was covered with his neat, precise writing.

"This is what this partnership needs more of," Isabelle pointed out as she dropped Blaine's tablet, which she'd been using to play clips of various songs, back onto the table. "Once you guys got on the same page the ideas just flowed. You were so connected. The critics were right about last year's programs. There was just something missing. A distance that I could feel, even if I couldn't pinpoint why." She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a second. "I've been thinking about something for a while and I want you to hear me out before you reject the idea."

Blaine crossed his legs and leaned forward, giving her his full attention. "Okay."

"I think you guys need to spend more time together."

"What, ten hours a day isn't enough for you? How many hours do you expect us to practice?" Kurt asked skeptically.

"No, I mean you should spend more time together _off_ the ice." Isabelle paused for a minute and then blurted out the rest. "Blaine, I think you should move in with Kurt."

Her announcement was met with stunned silence.

"You need to spend time getting to know each other's rhythms," Isabelle continued. "You have to know what the other person is going to do before they do it and that kind of… intimacy, will only come from being completely familiar with how the other one thinks and moves. Several of the other teams I've coached did this and it worked wonderfully."

Kurt finally recovered from his shock. "That's the worst idea ever. Even worse than the idea to make a reality show about competitive taxidermy." Kurt glanced over at Blaine's confused look. "Yes, it's a real thing. I'm sure it's one of the signs of the apocalypse."

"See! Right there." Isabelle bounced lightly in her seat. "You knew what Blaine was thinking before he even said anything. You need more of that. It will translate into your performance, I swear."

"No." Kurt shook his head emphatically. "No, nope, not gonna happen. Never in a mill—"

"I'll do it," Blaine interrupted.

"What?" Kurt cried incredulously.

Blaine knee walked around the side of the table and knelt next to him. "We've accomplished so much, Kurt. All of the effort, the long hours… We can't have come this far and then back away from taking the final step. This could be what puts us over the top and I'm willing to do whatever's necessary. Are you?"

Kurt just stared at him, dismay and doubt stamped across every inch of his face. He refused to discuss it any more that evening, but before Blaine and Isabelle left for the night they extracted a promise from him to at least think about it.

When Blaine arrived at practice the next day, he was armed with a whole list of reasons why Isabelle's idea was a good one.

His preparation proved to be unnecessary, though, as Kurt walked into the rink, stopped in front on him and said, "Fine. You can move in next weekend on two conditions: we'll split all the bills — I'm not running a hotel — and you aren't allowed to bring guys home with you. I'm going to go change."

Blaine didn't have a chance to respond before Kurt spun on his heel and rushed off to the locker room. He couldn't have been more surprised if Kurt had come in that morning and declared his plans to become a ballet dancer.

Kurt always seemed to zig when he expected him to zag.


	11. Chapter 11

After three years of skating together, there were a lot of things Kurt knew about Blaine.

He knew that Blaine disliked wearing socks to an almost pathological level. He knew that when Blaine was feeling particularly emotional — at either the happy or sad ends of the spectrum —his eyes suddenly looked too big for his face, like a character out of Japanese Anime. He knew that Blaine was popular with the gentlemen and wasn't always the most discriminating about who he hooked up with. He knew that the hesitant, off-center way that Blaine clapped wasn't a result of any lingering head trauma (he'd asked). He knew that Blaine smelled of raspberries on the days he decided to gel his hair. And he knew that, even when presented with overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Blaine always tried to believe the best in people.

He knew all these things and more, so he didn't expect the change in their living situation to have a big impact. After all, he already spent ten hours a day with the man.

Then, one day, about three months after Blaine had moved in, Kurt walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast and found himself absentmindedly pouring a bowl of cereal that was one quarter Golden Grahams, one quarter Apple-Cinnamon Cheerios, one quarter Captain Crunch, and one quarter Corn Flakes. Since Kurt himself ate an omelet for breakfast every day he was baffled for a second as to what he was doing. He stood there, his hand frozen mid-air in the act of pouring the last bit of cereal into the bowl, staring at the box as if it might hold the answers to the universe, or at least to his strange behavior.

"Ah, that's so sweet of you, Kurt. I'm starving. And it looks like you got the proportions right, too!" Blaine grabbed the bowl from the counter and happily slipped into a chair at the kitchen table, already taking his first bite.

Kurt spun around and began blindly pulling the ingredients for his omelet out of the fridge. As he stood over the stove, waiting to perform his patented, never-fail "Hummel Flip", he listened to Blaine crunch and considered what he'd done. Ten minutes ago he would have truthfully sworn that he had no idea that Blaine even ate cereal for breakfast, let alone the precise make-up of his favorite mix. How on earth had such a thing burrowed its way into his mind without him knowing?

He slid his breakfast onto a plate and primly took his own seat at the table. Despite the fact that he and Blaine now cohabitated, things hadn't changed that much. Okay, so now they carpooled to the rink (it just made sense. No reason to waste gas) and usually ate dinner together (Kurt liked to cook and it was more fun to cook for two than for one, after all) and sure, they usually ended up watching movies or TV together to relax in the evening (why should either of them retreat to their room to watch something on a tiny computer screen when their tastes matched up so well?), but that was it. Other than that nothing had changed. They lived their separate lives and tried to stay out of each other's way.

If Kurt happened to wait up until Blaine came home on the nights he went out with friends, well, that was just being a good roommate who was concerned about his safety. They hadn't grown any closer and Kurt didn't feel that he knew Blaine any better. Except…

Now he knew that Blaine preferred to eat pizza with a knife and fork. Now he knew that Blaine carried a monogrammed handkerchief and his grandfather's old pocket watch to remind himself that permanent things existed in their disposable world. Now he knew that while Blaine loved to read and had a stack of novels next his bed, he could, more often than not, be found to be re-reading something from his obscenely large comic book collection. And now, after watching Blaine organize his clothes after unpacking, Kurt was starting to suspect that he might have a bow tie hoarding problem.

Of course, he'd learned bigger, more important things also. His image of a proper and always controlled Blaine had been shattered one day about a month before when he'd come home from the store to find Blaine in the living room, singing and dancing to an Adam Lambert song, dressed only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, with one of Kurt's feather boas wrapped around his neck and eyeliner accenting his eyes. Kurt was ashamed to admit that he had been shocked, never considering before that Blaine had much of a flamboyant side to him. That incorrect preconception had died a quick death when Blaine had seen him in the doorway and continued to dance, even exaggerating his gyrations. He'd sung even louder and pulled Kurt in to dance beside him. Kurt still felt the urge to open a window at the thought of how their bodies had moved together. It wasn't as if such close contact wasn't a daily occurrence for them, but it had felt different in the dim light of his living room, with no coach watching and no planned steps to concentrate on.

Blaine finished his cereal and pushed his chair back from the table, startling Kurt out of his reverie. He rinsed his bowl out, and put it into the dishwasher before giving Kurt a smile and saying he'd be ready to leave for the rink in ten minutes. Kurt watched him go before rising and mechanically washing his own dishes. Except for his dad and maybe Santana, he'd never had the opportunity to know someone so well. Even with Adam, who he'd been dating for over four years, there was still a distance, a formality that prevented them from _really_ knowing each other.

With Blaine things were starting to become second nature, just as Isabelle had predicted. He could tell Blaine's mood by the music he played and whether or not he'd gotten lucky the night before by the faint rash burn on his neck and spring in his step. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that this familiarity was a two-way road and that, if Blaine wanted to, he could know Kurt just as well.

=^..^=

Blaine wasn't sure of many things, but one thing he was confident of was that Kurt Hummel was mostly a mystery to him.

Oh, he knew the surface stuff, like that Kurt was addicted to reading Vogue magazine, that he dressed like he'd stepped out of the pages of said magazine, and that he had a tongue that could strip the skin off an enemy in ten seconds flat, but the deeper stuff? The stuff that would tell him who Kurt really was deep down inside? For the most part he had no clue.

Living together proved to be a revelation. It was like taking the line drawing that was his impression of Kurt and filling it in until it was a beautiful, vibrant watercolor.

Before he'd moved in with Kurt he could have told someone that Kurt smelled like the expensive French skin cream he ordered directly from Provence and kept in his locker, but it was only later that he learned that Kurt also layered in a tiny spritz of the perfume his mother used to wear in order to remind himself why he skated. Before, Blaine had known that Kurt dressed in clothes of the finest fabrics, but it was only later that he discovered it was because most cheaper fabrics irritated and marked his sensitive skin. He'd always known that Kurt was funny — his snarky observations and comments really livened up a marathon training session — but he came to learn that beneath the sarcasm was a disarming dry wit that he yearned to hear more of. Before, he'd thought it was funny that Kurt preached about healthy eating, but kept snack cakes in his locker at the rink, but later he learned that Kurt didn't keep the sweets at home because he didn't want to tempt his dad — who was on a restricted diet for health reasons — when he came to visit.

Blaine had always been a gregarious, outgoing guy and loved finding out what made people tick, how their experiences and life's journey had led them to become the person they were, so he savored each little glimpse into Kurt's life and filed the tidbits away in the scrapbook in his mind. It was the little, mundane things that Blaine found so fascinating. That Kurt was abnormally afraid of vampires and could recite the dialog to almost every old black and white film noir. That he made a mean soufflé, but for some reason couldn't cook a steak correctly to save his life. That he had a pair of gold pants in his closet that he refused to tell the story behind. That he spoke French almost fluently, but had never been to France. That he sometimes had dark smudges on his fingers, but got defensive whenever someone asked about them. That while watching skating routines on TV he weaved and bobbed as he did the routine with the skater from his seat. That despite years of waking up at the crack of dawn for practice, he would still oversleep if he forgot to set his alarm.

At times he found himself a bit more fascinated and enthralled by the mystery that was Kurt than he probably should be, but that was just because Kurt was making him work harder than usual. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

And if Blaine found himself hurrying past horror movies when it was his time to control the remote, or making sure to record _Double Indemnity_ when he saw it on the TV schedule, or pausing at Kurt's door in the morning to listen for sounds that confirmed that he'd gotten up on time, well, that was just being a good friend.

Yet, despite all the time that they'd spent together, Blaine still felt like maybe he hadn't seen the real Kurt. There was an emotional distance that Kurt kept between himself and everyone around him and sometimes it seemed almost unsurpassable. At first, Blaine had thought it might just be that Kurt wanted to keep his professional relationships just that, professional, but as time passed he realized that Kurt kept everyone, except his father, at arm's length. Whenever Burt came to stay, Blaine saw a transformation in Kurt. There was an easiness that just didn't happen around anyone else. Usually, Kurt had an air of wariness about him and leaned his body back just slightly from those around him, a slight tension in his muscles signaling a readiness to leap away at any moment, but Kurt leaned _towards_ Burt, like a flower soaking up the sun. Their relationship was amazing and Blaine admitted to being just the tiniest bit jealous.

What he wasn't jealous of, though, was Kurt's relationship with Adam. Adam seemed like a perfectly nice guy and was always kind to Blaine, but amazingly, he hadn't been the slightest bit concerned that Blaine was moving in with Kurt and that just seemed a little strange. He understood that Adam trusted Kurt and all, but he hadn't blinked an eye at the news that his boyfriend was going to be living with another guy. When Adam came to visit, the three of them usually hung out together and Blaine never got the feeling from either one of them that he was an unwanted third wheel and should make himself scarce. In fact, even when he'd offered to leave them alone they had asked him to stay. If it were him and he only saw his boyfriend once every couple of months, he'd pull him into the bedroom as soon as they entered the house and not let him out except to eat.

Blaine had expected to see Kurt drop his guard around Adam, but his barriers remained in place, for the most part. He definitely didn't show the ease that he exhibited around his dad, which was surprising, but Blaine tried not to judge. Kurt and Adam had been together a long time, so whatever they had must be working for them.

All-in-all, though, Blaine was amazed at how well things were going. That wasn't to say, of course, that they didn't have their tiffs. The close quarters sometimes brought out Kurt's colorful side and Blaine pushed things too hard with his need to always please, but they were making it work and having some fun doing it.

It was a few days after the potentially embarrassing incident with the boxer shorts and the feather boa — which had happily turned into a fun fifteen minute dance party — that Blaine felt like he and Kurt had a break-through. He was in his room, re-reading the first three _X-Men: Dark Phoenix _issues, when he heard what sounded like a sob from the down the hall. He followed the sound and found Kurt sitting on the floor in front of the TV, his eyes glued to the screen and a crumpled up tissue clutched in his hand. It was the first time he'd seen Kurt cry.

Blaine watched the TV for a few minutes until he recognized the movie. "_Steel Magnolias_? Really?" he asked skeptically.

Kurt wiped the tissue under one eye and glared up at him. "If you don't cry when Shelby dies you have no soul, Blaine. No soul at all."

"No, hey I agree." Blaine raised his hands in surrender and took a seat on the floor next to Kurt. "Totally heartwrenching. I just didn't really expect you to be into this sort of movie. So far it's been more about the romances and the musicals."

"Sometimes you just need a good cry, you know? And not the kind of crying you get from a romantic movie. It's therapeutic." Kurt reached over and moved a bowl of popcorn to his left side, closer to Blaine.

"_Where the Red Fern Grows_ is my go to movie for that," Blaine revealed as he grabbed a handful of the treat. "Or _Dumbo_. God, saddest cartoon _ever_."

Kurt turned towards him a little, dipping his hand in to the bowl that now sat between them. "I see you and raise you the beginning of_ Up!_ Or the end of _Toy Story 3_."

"Mmm. _Beaches_."

"_Mommie Dearest_. What?" Kurt shrugged defensively at Blaine's look of amusement. "I don't know which makes me cry harder —the horrible life the daughter had or Faye Dunaway's acting. Though I do have to agree with Joan about the wire hangers. They are an abomination."

They ended up staying awake until two in the morning, just talking and commiserating on favorite books, movies, and what-not. It was as if having Blaine see him cry had wedged a door open a crack within Kurt. Blaine saw more emotion from him during those five hours than he'd seen in three and a half years. He felt that maybe, just maybe, he was finally seeing the real Kurt Hummel.

=^..^=

Blaine stumbled on the bottom step and turned to wave at Cooper sheepishly. Cooper tried for the disapproving older brother look, but his laughter ruined his attempt, so he just gave a little wave as he backed his car out of Kurt's driveway and headed towards the highway.

Blaine slid his key into the lock, happily noting that he was successful on his first attempt. The club he and Cooper had gone to that night had been packed and guys had been buying him drinks all night, much to Cooper's amusement. He wondered when being hit on in front of his brother would stop being embarrassing. Probably never. Cooper, as the designated driver, had limited himself to just one drink, so he had kept himself entertained by finding new ways to drive away each guy who approached their table. He'd loudly asked Blaine when his wife was expecting him to pick up the baby and whether or not the pills the doctor had given him had cleared up his rash. He'd implied to one guy that Blaine was impotent (God, Blaine could have killed him for that one. That man had been gorgeous) and told another that they were on a weekend pass from their cult compound. Blaine had to remember to never invite Cooper along again when he was horny and looking to get laid.

He shut the door quietly behind him and shrugged his coat off. He tried to hang it up in the closet, but the workings of the hanger defeated him and he finally just dropped it to the floor instead. He'd worry about that in the morning and just hope that Kurt didn't see it first. Crap. Kurt. He and Cooper had invited Kurt to go out with them, but he'd refused, as he normally did. It made Blaine feel guilty to think about him sitting at home while he went out and had fun, but Kurt always claimed that he liked his alone time, especially now that it was in such short supply. Maybe he called Adam up for some Skype sex while he had the house to himself. Blaine made a face. Okay, that picture needed to leave his head right that minute, because just…no.

He shook his head to chase away the disturbing image and then had to put a hand to the wall to stop from falling over. He grinned a little from the head rush, though. Head rushes were awesome. They kind of reminded him of the feeling he got when he looked down at a guy who was kneeling at his feet, worshiping him… He let his head fall forward to the wall with a thump. God, it had been way _too_ long since he'd gotten any. Stupid training. And stupid head-rush-blocking Cooper.

Blaine straightened up from the wall, his equilibrium momentarily restored. He toed his shoes off in the hallway, knowing he'd get a lecture the next morning about having respect for his clothing and turned towards the living room. He could see the light of the TV flickering and knew that Kurt was probably sitting on the couch, his legs curled up beneath him. Kurt was usually still up when he came home from a night out. He always said he wasn't waiting up, that he was just a night owl, but Blaine liked to pretend that he wanted to make sure that Blaine got home okay.

It turned out Kurt _was_ on the couch, but he was fast asleep with one arm dangling out awkwardly in the air. Blaine tip-toed silently forward and picked up the remote to turn the TV off. As he passed the couch, he realized that the notebook he'd sometimes seen Kurt with was lying open on the floor next to him, obviously dropped when he fell asleep. He'd asked Kurt a few times what he was drawing, but Kurt had always just shrugged and said he was only doodling. Blaine stooped to pick the pad up and was just about to set it on the coffee table when the top page caught his eye. It was a drawing of a girl in an elaborate skating costume. He glanced quickly at Kurt to confirm he was still sleeping then stepped closer to the lamp on the end table, bringing the sketch pad with him. The drawing was beautiful and incredibly detailed and obviously not just a doodle. A slash of black at the bottom of the sketch caught his eye and he tilted his head to bring the word into focus. Blackbird.

Feeling guiltier by the second, Blaine flipped through the book, finding page-after-page of designs, including a version of the costume Brittany had worn at Nationals a few years earlier. Blaine's brain was a bit sluggish from all the alcohol, but the picture began to come together in his mind. Kurt had a notebook of costume designs all signed with "Blackbird". Kurt, who got defensive whenever Blaine asked him about the smudges on his fingers. Kurt, who never let anyone see the "doodles" he was drawing. Kurt, who was evidently a costume designer.

A quiet rustling from the couch told him that Kurt was waking up, so Blaine turned, the book still held high in his hands.

Kurt blinked sleepily a few times and arched his back to stretch as he yawned. "Hey, you're home. What time is it? I didn't mean to fall asleep…What is that?" His eyes were zeroed in on the sketch pad in Blaine's hands.

"You must have dropped…and I…it was open and…" Blaine fumbled for the right thing to say. "Why didn't you tell me you were Blackbird?"

Kurt snatched the sketch pad away and glared at Blaine as he clutched it close to his chest. "That's private. You had no right to look at that."

"I'm so sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean to, I swear. It was just there and I…They're amazing. _You're_ amazing."

"Yeah, well, I'd prefer it if you didn't tell anyone that I'm, you know—"

"The best skating costume designer in the business right now? Why would you want to keep that a secret?"

Kurt sighed and opened the book up to the first page, trailing his finger over the drawing of an intricate red skating dress. "The first time was an accident. Santana and I were struggling to get designs we liked, so I just started sketching what we were looking for. Once Santana saw what I was doing she demanded that we find a way to get someone to make exactly what I'd drawn. It was just going to be a one-time thing, but then someone asked who our designer was and I just blurted out the name Blackbird. I guess I didn't want to give people yet another thing they could criticize me about. Then people started asking for contact info and it just snowballed from there. The system works pretty well; I have an assistant who handles the business side and I only have to think about the designs and watching the money role in. People get their costumes and don't have to be distracted by concerns about conflict of interest or any personal opinions they might have about me. It's best for everyone this way."

Blaine dropped down on the couch and flipped the corner of the blanket over his lap. He leaned his shoulder into Kurt's and looked down at the drawing. "I remember that costume from one of your old performance videos. You guys looked great."

"I called it 'Devil in a Red Dress.'" Kurt flipped forward a few pages to a sketch of a men's costume that appeared to have wings. "Now, I made this one for Johnny Weir. It was after he went professional, so he asked for something even more outrageous than what he wore during competitions. I had to talk him down from his original request of 'something Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.'"

"Wow, that's the toned down version?"

"Very."

Blaine curled his legs up beside him and leaned a bit heavier on Kurt, fatigue suddenly hitting him hard. "I can't believe you can draw like this and I never knew. I'm lucky if I draw a stick figure with its head in the right place."

They thumbed through the designs and Kurt talked about his inspirations and told funny stories about difficult clients. Blaine was really interested, but he felt consciousness slipping away from him bit-by-bit. Finally, he laid his head against the cushion and snuggled into the blanket a little deeper. Just as he was about to drift off, a thought occurred to him. "You realize that now you have to design our costumes for this year, right? I won't let you get out of it. I want a 'Devil in a Red Dress' moment. Except not red. Maybe white…"

Sleep finally claimed him and he didn't hear a response, if there was one, and he didn't feel Kurt's body tense and then slowly relax when Blaine's head fell to the side, coming to rest on his shoulder.


	12. Chapter 12

January 2018

With so much hinging on the outcome of the 2018 Nationals, most of the skaters were arriving at least a week before the competition in order to get over any jetlag and have some extended practice time to get the feel for the ice. Despite all the traveling he'd done for skating, Kurt had always found it difficult to sleep in a new place, so he was thankful that he'd have time to settle into a normal sleeping pattern before their official practices began. People often came to observe the sessions and television commentators were quick to spread stories of poor performances or problems they witnessed. It was amazing how quickly the buzz around a skater could take on a negative spin and he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure that didn't happen this time.

He and Blaine took a quick cab ride to the hotel and checked in with minimal fuss. They called Isabelle — who'd come in on an earlier flight — to confirm their arrival, then retired to their rooms to settle in. No matter how short his trips were, Kurt always completely unpacked, unable to stand the thought of living out of a suitcase or the affect it would have on his clothes, for even one night.

He tidied his toiletries in the bathroom and cast a careful eye over the clothes hanging in the closet to look for stray wrinkles, before glancing at the clock. Adam was due to arrive within the half hour and they'd planned on having a quiet dinner together. Kurt had booked a suite for the extent of his stay, thinking that Adam would be staying with him for several days, but an unexpected business meeting had come up and he would only be able to come for one night.

A knock sounded at the door and Kurt moved to open it, surprised that Adam had made it in from the airport so quickly. He opened the door to find Santana lounging against the far wall, her legs encased gleaming black thigh-high boots that ended just inches below the hem of her oh-so-tight mini-dress.

"You're not dressed," she observed flatly, dismissing the jeans and sweater Kurt was wearing. "Come on, you've got ten minutes."

"For…?" Kurt asked, searching his brain for any forgotten plans.

"Our celebratory dinner, of course," she replied, the "duh" unspoken, but very obvious. "Finn, Sam, and Brit are already at the bar downstairs and Blainerina said he'd meet us in the lobby in ten."

"Celebration of what?" Kurt wondered.

"Our inevitable assignments to the Olympic team, of course. It's totally predictable and cliché to wait until after the competition to celebrate. I say we do it now, like the extreme bad-asses we are.

"I think you have me confused with Sebastian," Kurt said. "He's the one that's certain about how this will all play out. I've never claimed to be a bad-ass and you won't catch me tempting fate like that. Come back in nine days and then we'll see."

Santana sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine. We'll make it a pre-competition good luck dinner. Whatever gets your skinny butt out the door. Let's go. The night isn't getting any younger and it's a crime that I haven't brought at least four people to their knees with this outfit already."

"I can't. I'm waiting for Adam. He should be here soon and —"

"Oh, good, I was starting to think that he was just a figment of your imagination. I hope he's ready for the Mexican inquisition. Don't worry," she reassured at his look of alarm, "we use fifty percent less torture than the original Spanish version. We'll catch your precious Adam in the lobby when he comes in, I promise." She held up two fingers in front of her solemnly. "Scouts honor."

"Santana, you were never a boy scout," he pointed out dryly.

'No, but I'm sure enough boys had inappropriate thoughts about me while tucked in their sleeping bags at the annual jamboree to make me an honorary member." She tapped her foot on the floor and stared him down. "If you aren't changed in five minutes you're going in whatever you're wearing when I drag you from this room. You might want to hurry so that at least you have underwear on. One…two…three…"

"Fine. Five minutes. God." Kurt ducked into the room and began to quickly rummage through the clothes he'd brought. "Remind me why we're friends again?"

"Please you love me. Just think about how dull things were without me. Four minutes."

A half an hour later they were all seated at dinner, with Kurt thankfully fully dressed, though it had been a near thing, as Santana hadn't been joking about the five minutes. She'd been relatively well behaved when she was introduced to Adam, making only one Monty Python joke and commenting snidely that his teeth looked surprisingly straight and white for a limey, so Kurt had considered himself lucky. He wasn't sure how long that luck was going to hold out, though, as Santana had claimed the seat on Adam's other side at dinner. He listened with half an ear to their conversation, but was truthfully more interested in speaking with Blaine, who sat across from him at the table.

Kurt had woken up that morning realizing that if they didn't finish in the top two at Nationals that this might be his last week with Blaine. If they didn't make the Olympics it would mostly likely mean the end of their partnership. They hadn't talked about it, but he didn't see them sticking it out another four years and trying for the 2022 Games. He tried not to let himself think about it, tried to concentrate on the competition ahead and not the consequences of failure, but his brain wouldn't let it go. It kept telling him to remember every smile Blaine gave and every word that he said, because it might be one of the last.

Dinner went by quickly and they were back in the lobby of the hotel by nine o'clock. They'd stopped in the little side lounge and were discussing whether or not they wanted to go to the hotel bar for a drink, when Santana grabbed Kurt's elbow and abruptly pulled him down the hallway and into the women's bathroom.

Kurt looked around, more than a little shocked to be in the ladies room. "Uh, Santana? I realize it's kind of a ritual for girls to go to the bathroom together and I'm thrilled that we've gotten things back on track between us, but you remember that I'm not one of your girlfriends, right?"

Santana examined her reflection and fluffed her hair. "Relax, I haven't forgotten that you have a penis. I just wanted to talk and this was the only place I could make sure the geek squad out there couldn't hear us."

"Well, make it quick. I don't want to have to explain this to anyone who comes in actually looking to use the restroom."

Santana shrugged and spun around before hopping up to sit on the counter, legs crossed at the ankle. "So, I know we were estranged or whatever and I'm sure navigating the tricky world of dating from within the gayest profession on earth was difficult without your daily dose of Aunty Tana straight talk, but what the _hell_ are you doing?"

Kurt didn't know what he'd expected her to say, but it wasn't that. "What?"

"I'm talking about James Bland in there, the Prince of Snores." She threw her hands up in disgust. "God, I'm falling asleep just thinking about him. Why are you wasting your time with the bore from across the pond when you've got a piece of USDA Prime ass beside you who's as disgustingly cute as a just weaned panda cub and doesn't make everyone in the room wish that we had stricter immigration laws with Britain."

"Don't talk about Adam that way. Or Blaine for that matter —"

"Please, you can't tell me you haven't had the exact same thoughts," she interrupted. "It's no good trying to hide it. Bitches like me notice everything. It gives us more ammunition to use against people. Look, I tells it like I sees it and you and Adam? My friend, that is a relationship that should have been put out to pasture years ago."

Kurt started to sputter out a response, but right then the door opened and a woman walked inside. She paused when she saw Kurt standing there and looked back at the sign on the open door as if to reassure herself that she'd walked into the right room.

Santana smirked and jumped off the counter. She grabbed Kurt's hand and led him towards the door. "Sorry, boyfriend trouble. Sometimes only your best gay can help."

The woman smiled and stepped aside to let them out. "Oh honey, I know. I'd be lost without mine."

They arrived back in the lobby just in time to hear Sam declare that it was too early to call it a night. Finn and Blaine quickly agreed and plans were made to go down the street to a bar they'd seen on the drive in. Santana and Brittany demurred, saying that they were going to watch a movie and Adam declined also, saying he had to leave early to catch his plane. Kurt was tempted for a second, but ultimately decided to stay with Adam.

As the boys headed toward the exit, Blaine turned back and grinned wickedly at Kurt. "Don't wait up."

Kurt followed Adam to the elevator and leaned against the back wall after pushing the button for their floor. As the doors closed, the last thing he saw was Blaine, talking animatedly to Sam, hands waving excitedly, with a huge smile on his face. An answering smile broke out on Kurt's face. He couldn't help it. Seeing Blaine happy made him happy. In fact, just seeing Blaine at all usually made him happy these days. His smile dropped away as he realized Santana was right. It was time he finally admitted a few things to himself and maybe to some others as well.

=^..^=

"This is the fifteen minute warning for Group One warm-up. Skaters in Group One, please get ready to take the ice."

Blaine froze in the midst of straightening his bow tie as the announcement came over the locker room intercom system. It was the final night of the Similar Pairs competition at the 2018 National Championships and in less than fifteen minutes he and Kurt would be hitting the ice to warm-up for their long program.

This was it. It all came down to this. Three-and-a-half years of training and within the hour it would all be settled. A first or second place finish would mean a trip to the Olympics in a little over six weeks. Finishing any lower would mean the end of the dream.

The standings after the short program had Sebastian and Chandler in first place, with Kurt and Blaine in fourth. While they would have loved to be higher, they knew that their long program was where their real strength was, so hopes were still high. Their short program, skated to an energetic version of _I Like It_ by Enrique Iglesias (sans vocals, of course) had been a big hit with the crowd. He and Kurt had ultimately decided to tie their short and long programs together to tell the story of a relationship, beginning with their characters meeting in a dance club. Kurt had designed them club-wear inspired costumes that were edgy, but not _too_ outrageous, and they had developed choreography that was flirty and sexy and caused more than few audience members to look a little over-heated by the time they were finished.

Their long program would revisit the same characters further into their relationship and would start with an argument and potential break-up (_Apologize_ by OneRepublic), before moving into a tentative reconciliation (_Listen to Your Heart_ by Roxette), and ending with them forming an even stronger bond (_Never Tear Us Apart_ by INXS). Their costumes were simple and elegant. Kurt's outfit consisted of tight black pants and shirt with an embroidered silver vest that tied like a corset in the back, while Blaine would be dressed in slightly looser black pants and a white dress shirt with a black bow tie that would become untied and hang casually from his neck as the piece progressed. They weren't the show stopper extravaganzas that Kurt was capable of designing, but they fit the mood of the piece to a T.

The ten minute warning was issued and Blaine decided it was time to go find Kurt, who had already finished dressing and was probably pacing just behind the curtain that led to the ice, as he normally was right before a performance. He turned to the mirror and was smoothing a hand over his hair for one final check, when a face appeared next to his and hands settled on his shoulders.

Blaine suppressed a heavy sigh and pasted a smile on his face. "Sebastian. Good luck out there tonight."

"Thanks. Don't need luck, though. We've got this locked down." Sebastian's normal arrogant expression took on a not-very-subtle leer. "You should slip your leash tonight and come out with me. I bet I'm a hell of a lot more fun than your little partner and definitely better looking."

That was debatable. "I'm sorry?" Blaine asked, looking around the room a little to see if there was anyone who could rescue him from the conversation.

"We should hook up." Sebastian dropped his voice and leaned into Blaine's personal space. "Since we most likely won't be competing against each other after tonight, we won't have to worry about looking unprofessional. I mean, that's never stopped me before, but you look to be kind of a stickler for stuff like that."

Blaine felt a flicker of annoyance at his insinuation. "And what makes you think we won't be competitors anymore?"

"Come on, let's be realistic," Sebastian patronized. "I've seen video of your program, seen the practices. You just don't have it in you to finish in the top two, so your season will be over and you'll be cheering me on from your couch as I walk in the Opening Ceremony. It's nothing to be ashamed of — you've come a long way. It's not your fault that you don't have a partner who can take you all the way."

"Thanks for your concern, but I think we'll do just fine."

"Please, the entire program hinges on the audience believing that there's heat and passion between you and Hummel and, let's be honest, he couldn't produce that kind of heat if he were on fire." Sebastian's breath was hot against his neck and cheek, making Blaine squirm. "Though if it was going to happen with anyone, it would be with you. Because you're so hot."

Blaine's eyebrows lifted towards his hairline. "Wow. Original. Thanks."

The five minute warning sounded, thankfully cutting off Sebastian's reply. Blaine said a hurried goodbye and rushed off to find Kurt.

It was show time.

=^..^=

"Next round's on me, Pixie Dust. Whatch ya drinkin'?"

Blaine could barely hear Santana over the music and dull roar of voices that filled the club. He held up his glass and mouthed "vodka on the rocks" and watched as she nodded and pushed her way towards the bar in the back of the room.

With both the Mixed and Similar Pairs competitions over, many of the teams had made their way to the nearby dance club for some well-needed R&R. Surprisingly, Kurt had been the one to make the suggestion that they go out, saying that they all needed to blow off a little steam before heading into the preparation for the Olympics.

The Olympics. Blaine couldn't believe that he was getting another shot. Though it'd been the goal since the first day he'd laced up his figure skates, he now realized that part of him had always doubted that it would happen, doubted that he could get good enough, fast enough. But against all odds he'd done it and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. And no matter how happy he was for himself, he was even happier that he'd also played a part in making Kurt's dream come true.

Though their long program hadn't been perfect, it'd been the best performance they'd ever given and they'd been more than happy with their scores, which had pulled them into second place behind Sebastian and Chandler. Santana and Finn had finished first in the Mixed Pairs competition, with Brittany and Sam close behind, so they would all be going to Pyeongchang in February.

A whoop from the dance floor caught his attention and he watched as Sam did a few non-regulation body rolls before a crowd of women who cheered and pretended to stuff dollar bills down his pants. Blaine laughed and let his gaze fall a little bit to the right, where Kurt was dancing with Brittany. They were swinging each other around, weaving in and out of their intertwined hands and giggling so hard they could hardly stand.

It was such a strange thing, to see Kurt tipsy and slightly out of control. He rarely drank and when he did, he usually limited himself to just one, but he'd already downed two shots and a rum and diet coke and showed no signs of slowing down. It was a good thing they didn't have to get up early in the morning.

Santana returned to the table, followed by a waitress with a tray of drinks, and the arrival of more alcohol served as a homing beacon to the dancers out on the floor. Sam led a conga line of ladies past the table and snatched up a beer with one hand before making a U-turn back into the crowd. Kurt and Brittany stumbled up also and Kurt slid into the seat next to Blaine, drinking thirstily from his vodka cranberry, while Brittany surprised everyone by sitting down on Santana's lap and helping herself to a sip of her margarita as she bopped her head back-and-forth to the music.

Blaine felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see the hopeful face of a cute guy that he'd seen scoping him out earlier. The man asked Blaine if he'd like to dance and held his hand out gallantly to help him up from his chair. Blaine accepted and slipped their fingers together, following him with just a waggle of his eyebrows tossed back to his friends.

He heard the familiar notes of _If I Had You _and let the beat fill his body as he began to dance. His partner, who'd introduced himself as Casey, moved in close, setting his hands on Blaine's hips as they found their rhythm. They danced like that for several minutes before Blaine spun around and pressed his back against Casey's chest, looking out over his fellow dancers as he moved. There was a rustling behind him and then arms encircled his waist, pulling him back slightly. Blaine tensed for just a second before relaxing into the embrace, surprised at how good it felt. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back until it rested against Casey's chest, letting the music wash over him. The song then transitioned into the slower _Take My Breath Away_ and Blaine turned again. He opened his eyes and was shocked to see that it wasn't Casey that held him, but Kurt. He glanced around and saw his former dance partner several feet away dancing with Santana, the expression on his face showing that it wasn't his idea.

"I hope you don't mind," Kurt murmured in his ear. "I felt nostalgic when I heard that Adam Lambert song. Do you remember when we danced to it?"

"Hmmm." Blaine tentatively placed his hand on Kurt's waist and felt a tingle run down his spine when Kurt moved his arms up to drape them across his shoulders. "I think I'm wearing considerably more clothes this time."

"Ah, but also sadly feather boa-less," Kurt pouted, trailing a finger up the side of Blaine's neck.

Blaine shivered at the sensation and pulled back slightly, not wanting to get so caught up that he forgot that it was Kurt he was with. He was proud of the fact that he'd never knowingly fooled around with anyone who was married or involved and he had no plans to change that now.

The night turned into a blur of drinks and dancing. Though Blaine danced a few times with Santana and Brittany, most of his time was spent with Kurt, laughing at his distinctive "shimmy" dance and trying not to hold him too closely while they swayed to the slow songs. He'd slowed down his own drinking down when he saw how much the others were consuming, knowing that someone had to keep their wits about them, but that didn't dampen his fun.

The club got more crowded as the night wore on, until ultimately there wasn't even enough room on the dance floor to move. They paid their tab and headed out into the crisp night air, everyone taking in a deep breath that was thankfully free of perfume and the smell of active bodies pressed too close together.

They got in the line for a taxi and began to inch their way slowly forward. As they waited, Sam did his Yosemite Sam impression — which Kurt found highly entertaining, if his maniacal laughter was any indication — and Brittany rested her head on Santana's shoulder.

"Brit and I are going to hit another club. I assume your bottle of hair gel lets out a homing beacon that will guide you back to the hotel?" Santana asked with a glint in her eye.

Blaine just smiled and ignored the jab at his hairstyle. "Are you sure you don't want to come back with us?"

Santana leaned over and kissed Brittany's cheek. "Nope, we gots to keep gettin' our grove on. Sam will go with us, don't worry. The constant impressions and need to talk about action movies can be tough to take, but he keeps guys from bothering us and those clichéd golden boy looks attract many pretty, pretty ladies that make for some interesting eye-candy, so we let him tag along."

Blaine raised an eyebrow at how freely Santana was acting and speaking. Though she'd opened up to Kurt over the past year about her relationship with Brittany, this was the first time she'd ever said anything in front of Blaine. He wouldn't say that the two of them were exactly friends, but that night felt like a step in the right direction.

Kurt came up behind Blaine, still chuckling over Sam's impressions and sagged against him drunkenly in a quasi-hug. Blaine staggered a bit under the additional weight, but regained his balance and put an arm around Kurt's waist to steady him. They finally got assigned a taxi and Blaine held the back door open as Kurt called out loud goodbyes to his friends and crawled inside.

"See you tomorrow. Use protection!" Santana called out just as the door closed behind them.

Blaine groaned and banged his head against the headrest a few times, desperately trying to chase away the image Santana had just planted. The trip to the hotel took only a few minutes and Kurt was so quiet during the drive that Blaine would have thought he'd fallen asleep except for the tapping of his foot against the seat in front of him.

Kurt stumbled a bit getting out of the taxi, so Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist again. They walked like that to the elevator and he pushed the button for Kurt's floor. Blaine's own room was two levels up, but Kurt was just drunk enough that Blaine wanted to make sure that he got back to his room okay, so they got out together and walked down the hall. Once at his room, Kurt fumbled with getting his card key into the slot, so Blaine gently took it from him and soon had the door unlocked.

"Come inside for a minute," Kurt suggested, tugging a bit on the hem of Blaine's sweater. "Let's have a nightcap."

"I'm thinking another drink might not be the best thing right now," Blaine answered, though he still followed Kurt inside.

Kurt dropped his coat onto the wooden luggage rack by the closet and moved towards a shelf where two glasses and a bottle of water sat. "Fine. We'll just have this then." He poured each glass part way full and carried them back to Blaine, who remained near the door. "I had a great time tonight. We should do that more often. In fact…" He sat the glasses down on the cabinet next to Blaine and reached up to set a hand on his chest. "There are several things we should do more often. Or start doing in the first place." Kurt slid his hand up and around Blaine's neck and cupped the back of his head, tugging him forward slowly.

Blaine let Kurt pull him in, entranced by the look in his eye and the warmth of his hand, but was brought to his senses as soon as their lips met. "Woah, woah. Kurt, what're you doing?"

"What I've wanted to do since the day I first met you, I think. Don't pretend you wanted it too." Kurt made to kiss him again, but Blaine still resisted.

"But, what about Adam?"

"You don't have to worry about him. We broke up last weekend before he left. It's been coming on for several months now. We both knew it. There's nothing holding us back now."

Blaine tried to process that bit of news, but Kurt's lips were suddenly back on his and the possibility for rational thought was gone. The kiss deepened quickly and soon lips alone weren't enough. Blaine slid his tongue against the seam of Kurt's mouth and felt it open beneath the pressure. He pushed forward and Kurt met him stroke for stroke, their tongues dueling in an intimate battle for supremacy.

Then, despite being caught up in one of the best kisses of his entire life, a tiny part of Blaine's brain flared back to life and started flashing a warning. He tried to push it away, but it became louder and louder until he turned his head to the side reluctantly, breaking the kiss.

"What?" Kurt cried out, chasing his lips. "It's not cheating, I swear."

"Kurt, you just broke up with someone and you're drunk. I'm not going to take advantage of you like this."

"But I want you to take advantage. I want you to take a lot of things." Kurt batted his eyelashes suggestively and kissed him again.

Blaine let the kiss linger for only a couple of seconds before pushing on Kurt's shoulders to move him back a few inches. "I'm trying to be noble, here. Give me a break."

Kurt stiffened and pulled away. "If you don't want me you can just say it. You don't have to pretend you're doing this for my benefit."

"Come on, Kurt, it's not like that. I just… You've had a lot to drink and probably — definitely — aren't thinking very straight and you're most likely feeling a little lonely, so I think we should just call it a night. We can talk tomorrow and —"

"Oh my god, Blaine, thank you so much! I'm so glad that you're here to tell me what I'm feeling and thinking. How on earth would I ever get along without you?" Kurt ground out, sarcasm dripping off of every syllable. "Frankly, I'm surprised at your reluctance, given your reputation for hoing it up with half the gay male population of Ohio. I mean, do you show this much concern for all the guys you hook up with in bars, because if so, I'm thinking the rumors of your numerous conquests might be a little exaggerated."

Blaine felt his patience wearing thin, but he knew it was mostly the alcohol talking, so he tried to keep his temper under control. "You've been off-limits the whole time I've known you, Kurt, so I never let myself think of you that way. It wouldn't have been fair to either one of us. And now that you've suddenly decided to let me know that you're interested you can't blame me for needing more than two minutes to wrap my mind around this. I can't turn on a dime like that." Kurt snorted in disbelief, causing Blaine to raise his voice a little. "I won't be your rebound or someone you have drunken sex with to make yourself feel better about being single again."

There was silence, then "Get out."

"What? Kurt, come one, let's talk —"

"Just get out. This pathetic, drunk, single guy needs to get a good night's sleep before the flight home tomorrow." Kurt walked over to the door and opened it, staring pointedly at the wall.

Blaine picked up his coat and stepped out into the hallway. "Kurt —" He wasn't able to finish his sentence before the door was slammed in his face. He stood there for a minute, his confusion about how things had deteriorated so quickly fading as his anger and hurt grew. How dare Kurt make him feel like he'd done something wrong? He'd been right that Kurt was too impaired to be making such important decisions about their relationship. If they'd woken up in the morning and Kurt had regretted it, well, Blaine wasn't about to put either one of them in that position. And how dare Kurt insinuate that Blaine had a bad reputation and was therefore expected to put out (oh god, did he really have that much of a reputation?). Blaine was a single, competent adult, so it was none of Kurt's business what he did or with whom.

Without even remembering how he got there, Blaine found himself back in his room. He threw his coat down on the floor and immediately headed for the mini-bar, determined to drink away his disappointment and anger.

He was lying on his back in bed, legs propped up on the headboard with two tiny Vodka bottles sitting empty beside him, when a knock sounded. He lifted his head to look at the clock and then at the door. It must be Kurt, coming to grovel for his forgiveness. No one else would be coming 'round at three in the morning. He hauled himself up off the bed and pulled the door open.

It wasn't Kurt.

"Sebastian. What are you doing here?"

Sebastian propped a shoulder against the door frame and smiled, "I saw the light on under your door, so I thought I'd take the chance. I don't often make mistakes, but when I do I like to own up to them, so I just wanted to say that you were amazing tonight." He lifted up a bottle of what looked to be whisky and leaned forward, his voice dropping seductively. "You were about the sexiest thing on skates that I've ever seen. I thought maybe we could have a few drinks and…talk. Get to know each other better."

Blaine considered him for a minute, then held the door open wider and stepped aside.


	13. Chapter 13

**Only one more chapter after this and I'll probably post that in the next few days. I'm off now to start my next story. I love doing the tropes and I've done supernatural, famous, and based on a movie already. Anyone have any tropes they'd especially like to see done next?**

* * *

The morning came all too soon for Kurt. He woke up to a pounding head and a mouth that tasted like he'd licked the bottom of a hamster cage, so he drug himself to the bathroom for an aspirin and a date with his toothbrush and about a gallon of mouthwash. After drinking enough water to fill a swimming pool, he wobbled into the shower and stood beneath the hot water with his head resting against the cool tiles, thankful that for once they were staying at a hotel with excellent water pressure.

He'd just finished washing out the shampoo when his fuzzy brain decided to release some of the memories of the night before that it had been keeping locked away. Kurt groaned and pressed his back to the wall, sliding down until he was sitting crossed legged on the floor, the water flowing unnoticed over this face.

Had he really brought Blaine back to his hotel room and tried to seduce him? And then said those horrible things and kicked him out? He'd never be able to look him in the eye again. He banged his head against the wall a few times until an answering pain reminded him that his skull was a very tender place that morning.

Though he would rather go out and skate an entire routine naked in front of a sold out crowd, he knew that he had to go apologize. He did a quick conditioning job on his hair and regretfully turned the water off. He dried himself with a fluffy white towel and wrapped it around his waist as he stepped over to the counter to get ready. He swiped at the fog on the mirror with another towel and scowled at the haggard reflection that was revealed. It would take longer than he thought to make himself presentable enough to step outside his room. Good thing he'd awoken at the butt-crack of dawn.

Forty minutes later, he was in the elevator on his way to Blaine's floor, practicing his apology in his head. "Sorry that I'm evidently a horny drunk and that I implied you're a promiscuous slut before kicking you out of my room." Boy that sucked. "I apologize for coming on too strong, but I haven't had sex in nine months and God, your jeans were tight last night." Yeah, that was sure to win him over.

Kurt reached Blaine's room and knocked with no hesitation. Better to just get the whole thing over with so that they could move past it.

He heard a rustling from inside and a shadow flickered in the light showing beneath the door. There was a pause of a few seconds and then the door opened slowly. Kurt opened his mouth to begin his apology, but the words stuck in his throat as he realized it wasn't Blaine standing in the open doorway, but Sebastian. Sebastian, who was wearing low slung jeans and socks and nothing else.

"Competition's over, Hummel. No early morning practice today." Sebastian rubbed a hand lazily over his bare chest.

"What…" Kurt was unable to think coherently enough to finish the sentence.

"If you're looking for Blaine, he's in the shower. We had a…late night last night. Poor thing was all tuckered out. I'll tell him you stopped by, though."

Kurt nodded dumbly and Sebastian shot him his usual smirk before shutting the door in his face.

=^..^=

Blaine shook his right leg to dislodge the bottom of his jeans from where they were caught up in his sock and rubbed a towel through his curls one last time before opening the bathroom door. It was almost eight o'clock and he wanted to catch Kurt at breakfast to talk about what had happened the night before.

He turned the corner into the main part of his room and was unpleasantly surprised to find Sebastian lounging on the chair in the corner, his feet up on the coffee table as if he owned the place. He felt a prickle of annoyance, but tried not to let it show on his face. After all, it wasn't Sebastian's fault that Blaine had made the mistake of letting him in the night before. "What are you still doing here? You need to go before anyone sees you."

"Oh, funny story." Sebastian tossed the magazine he'd been reading down on the table and draped an arm casually over the back of the chair. "It's too late. The cat's out of that bag."

Blaine rooted around in his closet for his shoes, not really paying attention. "What cat?" he asked absently.

"Well, Kurt was just here and I think he might have gotten the wrong impression." Blaine's head snapped up, his eyes going right to Sebastian, who was sticking his bottom lip out exaggeratedly. "Sad kitten face."

Blaine advanced towards him, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing, not a thing. But I think he kind of drew his own conclusions." He bobbed his head slightly side-to-side, a smile playing on his lips.

"Oh God, he thinks we slept together," Blaine groaned as he dropped down onto the edge of the bed and sunk his head into his hands.

"Well, we did."

Blaine raised his head and pinned Sebastian with his glare. "We got drunk and passed out," he pointed out sternly. "Not the same thing."

"Ah, yes, but who knows where the morning might take us."

"I told you last night that I am _never_ sleeping with you." Blaine slipped his shoes on and ran to the bathroom to run a comb through this hair. "You're not my type and you've been such an ass to Kurt that I wouldn't touch you even if I wanted to. Which I don't. I was just using you for your whisky last night and you know it."

Sebastian's reflection appeared in the mirror beside him as he came to stand in the bathroom doorway. "Hmm…too bad your little partner doesn't know that. Whatever will you do?"

"I've got to find him. I have to explain. He's going to hate me." Blaine flung open the door, ready to spend however long it took to find Kurt, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the man in question standing a few feet away, his back against the opposite wall.

Blaine let the door close behind him and there was silence for a few seconds as they contemplated each other. He'd expected to see blazing anger and accusation in Kurt's eyes, but instead all he saw was hesitant caution. Kurt looked tired and Blaine had never seen such dark circles under his eyes. If things had ended up differently the night before, he would be teasing Kurt right now about the hang over that so obviously still clung to him.

"Did you have sex with him?" Kurt asked, a tension in his muscles showing he was prepared for an answer that he wouldn't like.

"No! 1000 percent no. Not even a kiss. Never," Blaine responded immediately, his eyes never leaving Kurt's.

Kurt continued to look at him for a moment then he relaxed, sinking into the wall behind him. "Okay."

Relief coursed through Blaine's veins at the simple statement. "That's it? You believe me?"

"Yes," Kurt nodded and one side of his mouth crooked up into a slight smile, "but mainly because I know you have better taste."

"I do. I really do. I did invite him in last night and that was stupid, but he had whisky and the little bottles from the mini-bar just weren't cutting it. I think this might put me off drinking forever."

"He's good at that. Knowing your weakness and going right for it. He almost had me fooled when he answered the door nearly naked, but I only got to the elevator before I smelled a rat. He looked very self-satisfied, but not _satisfied_, if you know what I mean."

Blaine chuckled, though deep down he wanted to turn back to this room and toss Sebastian out the window. "Yeah, believe me, there was no _satisfaction_ on either side."

Kurt let out a quick bark of laughter then turned serious again. "I actually came to apologize for last night," he murmured as his gaze dropped to the carpet at his feet.

"No, Kurt, you don't need to —"

"Please, can you just let me get through this?" Kurt wrapped his arms around his middle protectively. "I'm so embarrassed and I'd like to say what I came to say and then never talk about it again, if that's okay with you?" Blaine nodded. "You-you were right. I was drunk and I should never have said those — tried to pressure you into —."

"God, no Kurt," Blaine crossed the hall and grabbed Kurt's hands, grasping them tightly. "I didn't feel pressured. I just didn't want you to do something you might regret."

Kurt's fingers tightened around his. "Well, I regret putting you in that position and I promise never to do it again. We're friends, at least I hope we still are, and I never want to risk that. Can we just pretend like last night never happened?"

Blaine refused to wonder if the sensation in his chest was a sinking heart. "Of course we're still friends. The best of friends. But I don't know why you want to forget last night," he joked, playing along. "We had a great time celebrating, drinking responsibly, and dancing with the gang and then came back and went straight to our respective rooms. It was a perfect night."

Kurt smiled at him gratefully and tentatively suggested meeting downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes. Blaine agreed and watched helplessly as he walked down the hallway.

He desperately wanted for them to talk about what had happened and see where such a discussion might take them, but he could give Kurt what he wanted, what he needed. For now.

=^..^=

"It's official," Isabelle declared as she joined Kurt and Blaine in their little rink-side reading nook before their first practice after the National Championships. "Ryder Lynn and Jake Puckerman from Canada are now the favorites for the gold medal at the Olympics. Their technical skills blew everyone else out of the water at the Canadian Championships."

"How bad is it?" Blaine asked, trying to recall which performances he'd seen from the pair. "How do we stack up?"

"If we take our current programs to Pyeongchang I think the best we can hope for is a fourth place finish," she replied gravely. Blaine let his head fall back onto the chair with a thud. Fourth place. Again. He wanted to wallow in his disappointment for a while, but he forced himself to listen as Isabelle continued. "If we want to seriously compete for a medal we have to make some changes."

Looking a little too nonchalant for Blaine's taste, Kurt pulled on his fingerless gloves and rubbed his hands together to warm them. "Do you have something in mind?"

"Yes, but I need you to keep an open mind. Besides the normal tightening up of your skills and adding difficulty in a few areas, I was thinking we should add a big new element." She bit her lip, her eyes quickly darting back-and-forth between her two skaters. "I think we should add a double twist lift to the end of the long program."

Blaine stared at her blankly as he searched his memory for any information on such a move and came away with nothing.

"A double twist," Kurt said flatly. "Are you insane? We can't do that lift."

"Why not?" Blaine asked. It wasn't often that Kurt declared something to be impossible. He was more of a "tell me I can't and I'll show you I can" sort of guy.

Kurt stood up and paced over to the corner and back, his go-to move when stressed. "You know in Mixed Pairs when the man lifts the lady up and throws her in the air above his head, where she does two full rotations laid out horizontally and then he catches her on the way down?" Blaine nodded slowly, remembering seeing such a lift. "That's the double twist."

Blaine swiveled his head around to look at Isabelle incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, now hear me out," she entreated. "It's risky, I know, but you'd be the only Similar Pairs teams doing anything like it—"

"Because it's impossible unless one of the partners weighs about fifty pounds less than the other one," Kurt cut in snidely.

"—so, if you succeed you'll be miles beyond the competition," Isabelle continued as if Kurt hadn't spoken. "The Olympics is the place to go big or go home. It's the pinnacle you've been working for. It's-"

"It's in six weeks," Kurt broke in again.

She smiled over at him sweetly. "Then that means we should stop discussing it and get practicing."

"Do you know how long it's been since I've done that lift? I can feel my body protesting from just the thought of doing it again. Santana's going to have a field day with this. She called me a menace to society when we were first learning it. She fell on her head so often I was afraid she was going to start speaking in tongues at one point."

Kurt and Isabelle began to argue about whether it was possible to train for such a move in the short amount of time that they had, while Blaine stayed sitting off to the side, his mind racing. He thought about how horrible it would be to come in fourth at the Olympics again, so close to a medal that it was more painful than finishing tenth. He wanted to do everything he could to give them a fighting chance, but something Kurt had just said was bothering him. In Similar Pairs, just as in Mixed Pairs, one partner was the base of the lifts, while the other was the "flyer." In their partnership, Kurt was the base and Blaine was the flyer.

"Um, guys? I don't think I can do it." He rubbed a hand nervously along his neck. "The jumps and lifts we do right now are one thing, but the double twist? Flying through the air like that? If I fell...I just don't think I can risk it with my history of concussion."

Isabelle deflated and sagged back into her chair. "Oh no. I completely forgot. Of course you're right. We can't risk it. We'll have to think of something else. Unless..." She turned to Kurt with a big smile.

"What now?" Kurt asked, his eyes wide with trepidation.

"You could do it. You could fly for the lift. Blaine has more upper body strength than you do anyways, so he'd probably be even better as the base." Isabelle reached over and squeezed Blaine's bicep, causing him to blush.

"Except he's the flyer," Kurt pointed out, stating the obvious.

"So we break the mold in another way and switch flyers too. It'll be precedent setting." Isabelle really seemed to be getting behind the idea and was on her feet, bouncing around in excitement. Blaine found her enthusiasm contagious and a giant grin spread across his face as he thought of the perfect spot in the program for the move.

"It'll be a disaster," Kurt groaned. "Okay, fine. If you guys want to embarrass us in front of a worldwide audience there's nothing I can do about it. I'll go pull some videos for us to watch, so that Blaine at least knows what it's supposed to look like." He left the nook, grumbling about the fact that, with the roles switched, neither one of them would know what they were doing and disappeared into the office where a computer and television was set up.

Isabelle looked after him, her smile dimming a little, so Blaine rushed to reassure her. "I'll try my best, Isabelle, don't worry."

"Oh, I know you will, sweetie, but it's not all about the physical. You know, lifts like this were never Kurt's forte, even when he was with Santana. You can have all the skill in the world, but in the end, lifts are all about trust, especially for the flyer and while Kurt excels at many things, trusting people isn't one of them. We'll make it work though. Don't worry."

=^..^=

Blaine hadn't been worried, but by the end of the first week of Olympics training, he decided that maybe he should be, if only just a little. There was a tension between him and Kurt that hadn't been there before their drunken night and he didn't know how to make things go back to normal. Kurt had sworn that he'd believed him about Sebastian, but every once and a while he'd catch Kurt looking at him with an unfathomable expression on his face and he just knew that Kurt was thinking about that night and imagining the worst. He was stiff in Blaine's arms in a way that he hadn't been in at least two years and there was a wariness about him all the time that cut Blaine to the core.

That wasn't to say that Blaine was behaving as if everything was normal, either. He knew that he wasn't. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was Kurt, all soft with desire, leaning in towards him. If he let his mind wander, he could almost feel the imprint of Kurt's lips upon his. It was as if the neat little box marked "just a friend" that he'd put Kurt into had burst open and now he didn't know what to do. It was distracting and nerve racking and he was angry at himself for not being able to get past it.

Training for the double twist was taking up at least half of their practice time and it was turning out to be really rough on Kurt. Blaine was strong, but there was a reason why performing the move would be so revolutionary for them. He struggled to throw Kurt high enough for the rotation needed and they spent hour-after-hour in the foam room, Kurt falling more often than not, before they dared take the move out onto the ice.

Little-by-little, the throws got higher, the rotation got tighter, and the catch at the end became more consistent. The need for long soaks in the Jacuzzi and ice packs late at night slowly decreased as Blaine's muscles became used to the new strain being put on them and Kurt spent less time landing on this butt.

As they worked, Blaine forgot to obsess about defining his feelings and his relationship with Kurt. He would go hours without thinking about the stiffness between them and the less he thought about it, the less tension there was. He could tell from the increasingly open expression on Kurt's face that he too was moving past it. Blaine hoped that eventually they would get comfortable enough that they could maybe explore the feelings uncovered that night, but until then he would be happy that their close friendship seemed to have emerged unharmed.

A week before leaving for Pyeongchang they did a run-through of their programs with all the changes included and by the time they'd finished and stood gasping for breath in the center of the ice they knew they'd done it. The redesigned program had come together and their timing was spot on once again.

They were ready.


	14. Chapter 14

**Well, this is it, my lovelies. I know I'm not a prolific writer of author's notes, but please know that I appreciate each and every person who is reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. You guys are amazing!**

**I've received some prompts and ideas and now I'm off to figure out what my next Klaine story will be. Drop me a review if you have any ideas you'd like me to consider. See you soon!**

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XXIII Olympic Winter Games - Pyeongchang, South Korea - February, 2018

Kurt wiped a tear away as the American flag was hoisted up high into the air of the ice skating arena and the first strains of the national anthem filled the air. He watched with pride as Santana mouthed the words to the song, the gold medal hanging around her neck throwing off sparks of light from the camera flashes going off in the crowd.

The anthem ended and Santana and Finn held their flower bouquets high as they waved to the crowd. They then invited the silver and bronze medalists up onto the top of the podium for a group bow. Kurt laughed when Santana "accidently" bumped Kitty Wilde, from the second place British team, on the forehead with her medal. She wouldn't be Santana if she didn't take the opportunity to rub her victory in the loser's noses.

Brittany and Sam had finished in fifth place, much higher than they'd been expecting, so the Olympics had been a good one so far for the U.S. skating team. The Similar Pairs competition was set to start the next day, but Kurt had been adamant about coming to watch the Mixed Pairs finals. Luckily, Blaine had understood and was happy to push their scheduled practice back a few hours.

Blaine cheered beside him and whooped loudly, the little American flag temporary tattoo on his cheek wrinkling as he grinned. Kurt pushed away the desire to reach over and run his thumb across the decoration and instead picked up his little flag on a stick and swung it over his head wildly.

Though his actions the last night of Nationals had been based in very real feelings, he wasn't yet ready to think too long on what exactly those feelings might be. His embarrassment over what he had said and done, coupled with Blaine's complete, if well meaning, rejection, had made him want to bury his head in the sand like an ostrich. He'd been thankful when Blaine agreed not to bring up that night again.

His need to suppress it all wasn't because he'd been angry about what had happened after Blaine had left his room (though it did rankle a little that Blaine couldn't, or wouldn't, see Sebastian for the backstabbing, manipulative meerkat that he was), but because he was terrified that even if he was sober and swore that he was long over Adam, that Blaine might still reject him. Maybe someday he'd be ready to examine their relationship and be willing to risk the wonderful thing they had for the possibility of something even better, but that day had not yet arrived.

The medal ceremony ended and the crowd began to file from the arena. As they moved toward the VIP exit, Blaine reached over and grabbed Kurt's hand to keep them together as they pushed in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic, much like salmon going upstream in the autumn. Kurt looked down at their intertwined hands and pretended that the tingle moving up his spine was just from anticipation of the coming competition.

=^..^=

As another pair's music began to play throughout the arena, Blaine took his place next to Kurt in the holding area. An official came up and told them it would be just ten minutes before they were expected to take the ice for their short program. Blaine smiled his thanks and reached down to grab Kurt's hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

Just then, the curtain was pulled aside and Sebastian and Chandler entered the room. Kurt's hand tightened reflexively in Blaine's when he saw them.

"I hear you boys have spiced up your programs. How sweet," Sebastian mocked as he stopped in front on them. "I'll guess we'll see soon if it was enough. This should be fun." He winked at Blaine suggestively and then walked away, the arrogant tilt of his head showing that he wasn't worried.

"I hate that guy," Kurt spit out as he glared after Sebastian, obviously trying to eviscerate him with his eyes.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand again comfortingly. "Just ignore him. He wasn't held enough as a baby or something."

Kurt snorted. "Or was held too much and now expects all attention to be on him." He pulled his hand from Blaine's. "I've got to go…"

"Ah, yes, the pre-skate pacing ritual. Go." Blaine shooed him away with a laugh. "At least it's a better superstition than the not-shaving thing they do in the NHL during play-offs. I looked like a sasquatch by the end of the first week."

Kurt grimaced and rubbed his hand protectively over his face and Blaine got a sudden image of him teasingly rubbing his beard against Kurt's cheeks as they kissed. He turned away from Kurt and walked to the refreshment table to grab a glass of water, anxiously hoping that his expression hadn't betrayed what he'd been thinking. Kurt still didn't seem ready to talk about their relationship and he didn't want to push him.

"Uh, hi, Blaine?"

Blaine looked up at the quiet voice to find a tall, good-looking guy wearing a midnight blue skating costume. "Yes?"

"Hi, um, I'm Eli. I just wanted to say good luck out there. I saw you skate at your Nationals last month and you were so great. I can't believe you've only been skating for such a short time. You're amazing," Eli gushed as he moved to stand a little closer. "I saw you over here and I knew I'd hate myself later if I didn't take the opportunity to tell you."

Blaine lifted his head a little higher, pleased with the unexpected flattery. "Thanks, Eli. You're on the Canadian team, right?"

They talked for a few minutes about their programs and skating until another official appeared and told Blaine that it was time to head out to the ice. He thanked the woman and held out a hand to Eli as he said goodbye. Eli shook his hand, but let the grasp linger, stroking his fingers lightly over Blaine's when he eventually pulled back, a sultry smile and an unspoken offer on his lips.

Flustered, Blaine hurriedly walked away, not wanting to give Eli the false impression that he was interested in return. He joined Kurt, who was waiting silently by the door and then Eli was forgotten in the excitement of what was about to happen.

They stepped out onto the ice, doing a quick warm-up while the previous pair got their scores. As soon as they moved to take their places for the beginning of the program, Blaine could sense that something was wrong. Kurt seemed abnormally tense and wouldn't meet his eyes. As the opening notes of their music began he fervently hoped that whatever the problem was it wouldn't affect their program.

They began to skate, and while they were technically perfect, the energy and chemistry that they'd worked so hard on over the past year was missing. When they finished the program and took their bows, the slightly muted reaction from the audience told Blaine that they had noticed the difference too.

When the scores came back it was obvious the judges agreed that it hadn't been their best performance. Blaine looked up at the scoreboard and saw their names slide into the third place position. The top two teams were still to skate, so it seemed as if fifth place would be the highest they would rank going into the long program.

Blaine knew that Kurt must be beating himself up about what had just happened, so he tried to grab his hand as they left the Kiss and Cry area with Isabelle, but Kurt evaded him and headed over for the press line for their post-skate interviews.

"You guys seemed a bit off out there. Anything we should know going into the long program?" the first reporter asked as she held her microphone out to them.

Kurt usually took the lead in their interviews, so Blaine waited a second for him to respond, but when nothing was forthcoming he slapped on a charming smile and answered instead. "No, everything's great. We didn't get the scores we were looking for tonight, but we'll come back ready for a fight on Saturday. We've got a great long program that we've worked really hard on improving since Nationals. I think we'll blow some socks off."

"Ah yes," the reported smiled, "we've heard rumors of a new surprise element. Can you give us any hints?"

Blaine grinned flirtatiously and bumped his shoulder against Kurt's. "Do you want to get me in trouble with this guy? I can't give any hints, but I will say I'm really proud of it and—"

"We're not doing it."

Blaine blinked and looked over at Kurt, unsure that he had heard correctly.

"Kurt?" the reporter moved the microphone over in his direction.

"We've increased the difficulty of the program, but we're not doing the new element. We only had a few weeks to work on it and it isn't ready." Kurt gave the woman an absent smile and moved on down the line to the next reporter.

Blaine somehow managed to finish up the interviews, but he wasn't quite sure what he ending up saying. He was too busy trying to wrap his mind around the bomb that Kurt had just dropped. They weren't doing the lift? Since when? They'd been performing it seamlessly for over two weeks.

They finished up with the press and Kurt veered off towards their dressing room. Isabelle had stopped to give a TV interview, so Blaine followed him alone, thankful to find that no one else was in the room when they arrived.

"Kurt, what's wrong? Why did you tell that reporter—"

"I'm sorry about what happened out there," Kurt said in a monotone as he shrugged his Olympic team jacket on over his costume and sat down to unlace his skates. "I don't have any excuse."

The door opened and Santana stomped in, her gold medal swinging around her neck. "Hummel, Anderson, what the hell happened out there? Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman had better chemistry than that."

"We saw Sebastian before the skate and I think Kurt let it rattle him," Blaine observed quietly.

"This is all your fault," Santana cried as she rounded on him.

"Wait, you're blaming me for this." Blaine said incredulously. "But _I_ didn't do anything."

"You let that snake into your hotel room," Santana snapped. Blaine couldn't hold back his look of surprise and she smirked at his reaction. "Oh yes, Kurt told me all about that night. And the next morning."

"But nothing happened and Kurt knows that."

"Irrelevant. You fraternized with the enemy. Little Blainey just had to have some validation that someone still liked and desired him after Kurt threw him out. God, men are all alike. No wonder I switched teams."

"We're supposed to be professionals!" Blaine raised his voice, finally losing his temper. "All Sebastian did was walk by and toss off a little mild trash talk. He tried to throw us off our game and Kurt let him. He got out onto that ice and gave up."

"Oh, you are so about to get your lily white ass handed to you—"

"Santana, leave him alone." Blaine had never heard Kurt sound so tired or so defeated. "It wasn't about Sebastian. He's nothing. I saw another guy flirting with Blaine backstage and I-I don't know, I guess I was jealous or something and I let it affect my performance. I think I was just looking for an excuse to throw it all away." He continued to put his things in order and slipped on his shoes, still not looking at them. "You know, I've been doing this for so long because it's what my mom wanted, but I never stopped to wonder if it was something _I_ wanted. I've sacrificed so much for so long and now I've ruined everything." He turned to Blaine, eyes glistening with tears. "No matter what happens in the long program, I've decided to retire after the Olympics. Isabelle will agree to keep coaching you, if you want. She'll help you find another partner. Someone who can be what you need. What you deserve." With that Kurt slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out the door, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

=^..^=

Kurt avoided Blaine the rest of the day and all of the next except for during their final practice session. When Blaine tried to bring the subject up out on the ice, Kurt just said that they needed to concentrate on their skating and refused to talk.

By the time they were getting ready for their long program, Blaine was so frustrated that he thought he might scream. He'd stayed up late the night before, sitting in the dark in his room and thinking long and hard about what it was he wanted from life. He'd opened the Pandora's Box that held his feelings for Kurt and to his surprise what emerged hadn't been scary at all.

They had arrived late to the arena, so they went directly out onto the ice for their warm-up session and then headed backstage to wait for their turn to skate. As soon as they left the ice, Kurt went to talk to Isabelle, forestalling Blaine's attempts to talk to him. For ten minutes they stood there, surrounded by coaches and other skaters as Blaine fidgeted, his need to speak out nearly overwhelming him.

Then an official came to lead them to the ice and Blaine knew he could keep silent no longer. There was no way he could step out onto that ice without telling Kurt how he really felt.

"Kurt, we need to talk," he insisted as they walked through the crowd.

"Later, please?" Kurt pleaded. "I don't want to fight."

Blaine tugged on Kurt's arm, swinging him around until they were facing each other. "No, I need you to listen to me. Now. We've spent too much time pretending that things between us haven't changed and I'm done. You came into my life with the force of a hurricane and changed everything. You gave me something to live for, something to look forward too and your friendship has meant so much to me, but it's not enough anymore. All my life I've been looking for something and now I realize that it's you, Kurt. I've been looking for you forever. I love you." Kurt stared down at him in silence, his eyes giant in his face. The skating official pleaded for them to take the ice, but Blaine shrugged him off. "Please say something."

Kurt stood frozen in the middle of the bustling activity. A passing coach bumped his shoulder, knocking him off balance a bit, but he didn't react, his unblinking eyes never leaving Blaine's, a cavalcade of emotions playing out over his face. His eyes began to well up and Blaine wondered for a second if he'd made a mistake. Were tears a good sign?

Then Kurt shook his head as if trying to throw off some cobwebs and met Blaine's gaze again, this time wearing a blinding smile. "We've got to get onto the ice," he whispered, a tear slipping unnoticed down his cheek. "We're about to become the first Similar Pairs team to do a double twist." Kurt spun around and quickly removed his skate guards before stepping through the opening in the boards and out onto the ice.

Blaine quickly followed him. "What? No, Kurt, I didn't say all of that to get you to do the lift. You were right, we're not ready. If you got hurt out there, I—"

Kurt pressed a fingertip to Blaine's lips to quiet him. "I won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I trust you."

A warmth filled Blaine's whole body and he was glad for the weight of his skates or he might have just floated away. He grasped Kurt's hand and they took their places. The music started and they began to move. Right way, Blaine knew that it was going to be the best skate of their lives. They were so in-tune with each other that it was like he could read Kurt's thoughts. The audience obviously felt the electricity also, applauding wildly for their every move.

They made it through the intricate footwork sequences, the side-by-side jumps, and the complicated spins until finally all that remained was the lift. They both swiveled until they were skating backwards and Blaine placed his hands on Kurt's waist. Kurt grabbed ahold of his wrists and planted his toe-pick into the ice, springing up as Blaine lifted him over his head and threw him into the air.

The crowd gasped as they realized what was happening.

Kurt spun tightly around, completing his two rotations and, as he came down, Blaine caught him again around the waist. Kurt landed perfectly facing Blaine, a grin splitting his face as the audience exploded in applause.

They floated to a stop, perfectly in time with the last note of music, Kurt draped over Blaine's arm in a low dip.

"I can't believe we just did that," Blaine gasped, every nerve ending in his body tingling.

"I can," Kurt said serenely, smiling up at him.

"Why?"

"Because I love you, too."

Blaine searched Kurt's eyes, looking for any hesitation, any sign that Kurt was just saying what he thought Blaine wanted to hear, but all he saw was pure, unreserved love. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and hoped that the TV audience at home, who was probably looking at their zoomed in on faces right at that moment, would attribute any tears to relief over their performance.

He slowly lifted Kurt up from the dip. The roar of the crowd faded and the camera flashes became muted, almost like twinkling stars. He wrapped his arm tighter around Kurt's waist and pulled him in closer until their bodies were pressed together. He reached up with his other hand to cradle Kurt's cheek and felt Kurt's fingers thread through his hair. Then Kurt tugged until their lips met.

This time, Blaine didn't pull back. He sank into the kiss, pulling Kurt in tighter until there was no space between them. He forgot about the cameras and the audience, the coaches and the other skaters. He even forgot about the judges. The scores didn't even matter. He had won the best prize of all already.

Okay, so maybe they mattered just a little bit.

=^..^=

_Welcome back to NBC's coverage of the Winter Olympics. The Similar Pairs competition came to a dramatic end yesterday, when the team of Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson turned in the performance of their careers and came away with the gold medal, beating the favorites, Ryder Lynn and Jake Puckerman of Canada, by the slimmest of margins. Though the pair had a somewhat disappointing short program that left them languishing in fifth place, their long program electrified the sold-out crowd at the ice skating venue and garnered them the highest marks so far in these Olympics. _

_Not only did Hummel and Anderson perform a technically superb program with high artistic value and deep emotion, but they also became part of skating history by becoming the first Similar Pairs team to perform a double twist lift, which was previously thought to be impossible for two men to complete successfully._

_The pair, which was not known to be romantically involved before last night's competition, finished the program with a passionate kiss that had the audience buzzing. Though they sidestepped questions about their relationship in their post-win interviews, they delighted fans today by appearing hand-in-hand and looking very cozy at the Ladies Singles Short Program competition._

_Though there had been rumors that Hummel was thinking of retiring after these Olympics, coach Isabelle Wright told reporters today that when the pair returns home after the Closing Ceremony they will begin preparing for the World Championships next month. During her interview, she praised the team for their willingness to take chances and go beyond the status quo of the sport and said she hoped that their work would inspire other generations of male skaters to consider the still relatively new sport of Similar Pairs._

_Hummel's former coach, Sue Sylvester, and Sebastian Smythe — a member of the other U.S. Similar Pairs team which finished fourth in the competition after Smythe suffered an uncharacteristic fall during side-by-side triple jumps — who have previously been outspoken critics of Hummel had no comment._


End file.
